


long live all the magic we made

by benwvatt



Series: each and every universe [8]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: (roger is trash youll see), Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, B99 Summer 2019 Fic Exchange, Childhood best friends!!!!, F/M, Fluff, Neighbors, jake is so in the dark abt magic, jake is the boy next door (tm) and thinks amy is the best person to exist ever, pureblood amy is such a nerd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-06-09 23:23:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19486129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benwvatt/pseuds/benwvatt
Summary: He deserves to know about cheering charms, or spells that change mice into teapots, or a potion that could double his age. He belongs in her world, she thinks. If only he were.Rule number one of being a Santiago: Neighbors like the Peraltas don’t have any business knowing about magic. Amy ignores it and finds everything she was dreaming of.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [startofamoment](https://archiveofourown.org/users/startofamoment/gifts).



Rule number one of living in New York, according to the Santiagos: Never, ever talk to the muggles next door.

The Peraltas have a son Amy’s age, which she only knows because her parents always reject the birthday invitations sent their way. It kills her inside, having to say no. Amy hides most of the invites in her room so her mom can’t throw them away, and dreams of candles alit on a birthday cake. This year was the double digits party, and, to no avail, she’d begged her parents to let her go.

Too risky, they always declare. Their neighbors can’t know about magic. The Santiagos perform cleaning spells with the curtains shut tightly, and their store of Floo powder is neatly hidden in a flowerpot in the living room. "It’s for our safety and for theirs, mi amor," Amy’s dad declares time after time. "People like the Peraltas don’t have any business knowing about our lives."

Rule number two, of Amy’s own creation: figure out how to use muggle currency before the ice-cream man gives you a funny look. Suffice to say, she’s breaking both guidelines at once, fumbling with the coins in her hands. She only has so many, picked up from stray sidewalks and empty hallways.

Why are men’s faces on each of them? And why are there flowers and buildings carved onto the metal? She looks up at Jake Peralta as she purses her lips and feels a slight blush fall over her face.

“Sorry, I, uh, lost my glasses,” she says, supplying her go-to excuse. Inside, she flinches; he must hate her for avoiding him all these years. “Can you help me?”

“No problem,” Jake offers, sorting through them. He frowns. “Why bring so many pennies?”

Amy freezes. Her parents would kill her for doing this, and the man running the ice-cream truck gives another sigh. Glancing quickly at her house, praying nobody can see her, she lies. “I … couldn’t get rid of ‘em. You know how it is.”

“I get it, we have way too many of them at our house too.” Jake smiles, picks out six of the biggest coins, and hands them to her. “Here, these quarters should get you anything you want.” 

“Thanks,” she replies, then orders and tucks the remaining money into her pocket. Their ice cream comes quickly, and she hands Jake his cone before taking hers. _Be cool, be cool, try to blend in…_ The sun beats down on Amy’s skin and she jingles the change in her pocket, trying to diffuse the awkwardness.

“You’re Amy Santiago, right? From next door? Why don’t we ever see each other?”

“I’m homeschooled,” she blurts, going with the cover story. A shiver runs through her. “And my parents don’t speak much English, ‘cause we’re Cuban, so they don’t really interact with the neighbors.”

Jake smiles. It’s hard to communicate “sorry for skipping your birthday party every year” in a single expression, but Amy tries her best to do so as she grins back. Now, if she could only master the “my parents don’t drive because they can apparate??” and “please ignore that time we threw a quaffle into your yard” looks, she’d be all set.

“It makes sense. Are you guys are just more sheltered?” he asks.

Amy nods. “My brothers and I don’t even watch TV or anything. Just lots of studying and helping out around the house, learning to fix the bathroom sink and stuff like that.”

Bless her brother Luis for taking Muggle Studies last year, and for blabbing on and on about it. Despite the fact that he told Mom the trolley on the Hogwarts Express was a waste of money and ruined it for everyone else, he’s officially her favorite. (Well, he could’ve taught her more about the currency system, but still. Amy takes what she can get.)

“Wow, sounds tough,” Jake replies. “Listen, your parents probably wouldn’t approve, but come knock on my window if you ever need someone to talk to. Just hop the fence and knock on my window, okay? First-floor, it’s the one covered in stickers. We have a treehouse. It’d be nice to talk to someone.”

Amy looks back to her house again, thinking how disappointed her mom and dad would be. One year ‘til Hogwarts, they always say. One year and you can see your brothers whenever you want, instead of missing them throughout the school year. But ever since they moved to Brooklyn, away from her cousins and her friend Rosa, it gets lonelier every day. The cold clambers up her spine so easily now.

“Sounds pretty good, Jake. Thanks.”

As he walks away, his shoes light up, electric blue against the dull pavement. Amy only stares, confused by the boy next door and by the magic he keeps to himself.

* * *

Running to Jake’s bedroom window is risky. Amy does it anyways, a little bit breathless. She misses having a friend to gossip with, dreams of hand gestures and inside jokes, pleads for skinned knees and laughing until her stomach hurts. Considering this, it’s not hard to wait for her parents to work late at the Ministry, and then she climbs the fence with ease. They need never know.

“Hi,” Amy whispers, sitting on the ground outside Jake’s room. A few crickets chirp around her and the tall grass tickles her skin; she doesn’t mind it one bit. “You want to come out here?”

“I was hoping you’d show,” Jake says back. He grins, surrounded by darkness overhead, and makes his way out the window and into the treehouse. Extending a hand, he pulls her up. The air feels clearer, she thinks, but it might be all in her head.

“So, you’re Amy, the mysterious neighbor with the strict parents. Tell me, doesn’t it get boring over there?”

“Kinda,” she shrugs, legs dangling from out of the treehouse. Absentmindedly, Amy plucks a few acorns and puts them in her pocket. It’s nice, exploring the outdoors rather than admiring it and passing through. “I have seven brothers, at least, and there’s always something going on. But they’re older than me, so it’s sometimes hard to get a word in.”

Jake groans. “I wish I had a brother! I’m an only child, and there’s never really anyone to talk to. Most of the people in this neighborhood don’t have kids our age.”

“I’ll be your friend,” Amy offers, looking over at him. The moonlight casts a shadow of the treehouse on the ground, and she carefully takes notice of how high they are in the air. Her dad won’t even take her flying in their Cleansweep Seven. It’s exciting, breaking one of his many rules.

“Thanks, Amy. That sounds really nice. I’ll be yours, too,” Jake smiles, pointing to a green light in the sky for a moment. “Check it out, a drone.”

She gulps. “Yeah, see it drone, on and on, continuously. Cool, cool, cool. I love when it … zooms? Zips?”

Jake turns, sitting cross-legged, and gives her a look. Aside from the green flickering, the night sky is empty. “You don’t know what a drone is, do you?”

“I’m sorry! We’re really sheltered! And my parents don’t speak a ton of English, I told you!” Amy protests. Does he know? Can he feel the strangeness, her magic, all around? Would any sane boy sit in a treehouse with a girl whose anxieties express themselves in sparks and flickers, fire and light?

Wind rustles through the oak leaves, and Amy stills for a second. Guilt is welling up in her throat, and she’s never wanted to stay with someone whose very presence is a risk, a cause for caution.

“Hey, stuff can be hard to understand sometimes. It’s not a big deal. Anything you have questions about, just ask me, okay?” Jake knocks his shoulder against hers, lightly, breezily reminding her of his every intention. Even the dark, Amy can see his freckles.

“Thank you, ” she says, gentle. “That means a lot.” Amy knows she’ll have to leave soon, and she’s never belonged there in the first place. Sitting in the treetops with a schoolgirl crush and her half-written apologies, nevertheless, she’d like to stay. 

The moon glows, a harsh sliver of light above them. The night envelops them both, and they talk until what feels like morning.

Jake cocks his head. “Your middle name is Nina?”

“That’s right, I’m Amelia Nina. And, for you, it’s Sherlock?” She hugs her knees to her chest, her eyes a little bleary from staying up.

“My mom reads a lot,” he replies, shy at first. “And, anyways, let me explain what drones are...”

She giggles. “And then you’re going to have to tell me what Sherlock is.”

* * *

Amy likes to keep her hands behind her back and her emotions smoothed down, in case her magic reveals itself. The first time it did so, her mother’s incense had burnt out of control and she’s made it rain in midair, keeping the flames at bay. The sky had flashed blue for a split second, and Amy’d paled in comparison. Power comes at a cost, her parents warn. She could be killed (or worse, expelled) if the wrong people notice her gifts.

Stay quiet, muted, serene. Be nonchalant. Keep your secret to yourself. She grows talented in biding her time, counting down her days. At eleven, she can leave home. At seventeen, she can go wherever she wishes.

So, when Jake Peralta becomes her best friend, it’s all too difficult to keep him at arm’s length. Amy certainly doesn’t tell him about magic, but it hurts to lie to him. He deserves to know about cheering charms, or spells that change mice into teapots, or a potion that could double his age. He belongs in her world, she thinks. If only he were, her silent hopes beckon.

The lingering breadth of that statement drags on into the year; they’re so close, he’s on her like a shadow, a beloved memory 一and yet, Jake doesn’t know her completely. She lies every time they meet.

This thought in mind, Amy tells him as much about her as she can. Despite her reservation, she clings to numb determination. She loves him. How could she not? The rules she knows by heart begin to pile, unwanted, at her feet.

Amy adores Jake’s anecdotes, his birthmarks, his ephemeral glee. Their nights are spent in long conversation, their shoulders pressed together and voices hushed. Once, he sneaks her a cup of coffee from his house and laughs until his stomach hurts, seeing the way her face contorts. It isn’t until the day after that he brings the creamer and sugar.

Amy teaches him to fold a bishop hat out of a napkin (“when will I ever use this?!”) , and to whistle with a blade of grass. She speaks Spanish sometimes, and a dash of Latin, asJake tries to follow along.

 _Don’t let any spells slip,_ Amy tries to remind herself. _They’re in Latin as well. Nothing fancy, not even an Alohomora. Just use ‘e pluribus unum’, or ‘et al’ or something. Easy phrases._ The fact that she has to remember common muggle terms in a foreign language is proof she’s in over her head.

“I don’t know much Latin,” Amy excuses herself, “but I’m better at Spanish. My whole family speaks it, of course, and I can try and teach you a little.”

Jake stumbles over the syllables and accents. Amy thinks it’s the most endearing thing, watching him practice 一 “did I get the verb ending right? Is it amos or ais?” Once in a while, she lies, just to bolster his confidence.

Their year is illuminated in gold, captured in everyday moments. Jake takes his dad’s camera out to the treehouse and snaps three full reels of blurry pictures. Amy sees dandelions and sidewalk chalk, lawn decorations and tangerine skies, taped to the walls or stored in the photo album Jake keeps outside. She wishes the images weren’t frozen, and she could relive the memories over and over, like in a wizard photograph (that time a firefly flew into Jake’s ear and wouldn’t go away? priceless.)

“Our life isn’t to be shared,” she can hear her mom and dad saying. “We’re purebloods. Better safe than sorry. We can’t go around spilling secrets for no reason.”

They start to wonder why she’s always so tired in the mornings, and why her gaze always lingers to the house next door. Her ears even perk up sometimes, when the ice cream truck drives by. Amy is their youngest, her picture not yet on the mantel, and they know she’s nearly eleven now.

One day, an owl lands on their windowsill, a school acceptance letter in its beak, and Amy realizes she has to walk out of Jake’s life. There are still a few acorns on her nightstand, from the first day they met, and the leaves look afire outside. It’s hard to describe how different autumn feels this time around.

The treehouse looks awfully empty the next time she sees it. It’s as if it knows, in some strange way, that it’s the end of an era.

* * *

Jake Peralta is ten years, eleven months old the day everything changes once again.

He should be used to it by now; his family used to move every year or so, and his parents divorced when he was nine. Dusty bedrooms and U-Haul trucks are all too familiar in his memory. And here he thought he’d stumbled upon something irreplaceable with Amy, practically his partner in crime 一 by now, he spends every night with the promise of her presence, lying hopelessly in wait for a knock at the window.

He’s never wanted to be back in the treehouse more.

Jake comes home from school one day and sees his father in the kitchen, a merciless look in his eyes. “What do you mean, you cashed the checks?!” Roger snaps.

His mom’s sitting at the table, hunched over a slip of paper covered in red marks. She stutters a response, voice caught and feeble. Jake never noticed it before, but he can see the vein in his dad’s forehead bulging.

The room is stuffy, unchanging, and it feels as if Jake’s a guest in his own home. His parents have noticed he’s there in a theoretical way, not acknowledging him but going out of their way to avoid eye contact. It’s like a brush with loneliness itself.

“When I ask a question, I expect an answer, Karen!”

Everything happens so strangely. His dad is gripping his mom’s shoulders, his grasp tight enough to bruise, and his voice is insistent, ripping away every last speck of decency he’d had before. He looks her in the eye, severe and unbridled, and the lights seem to flash of their own accord.

The noise is blinding, the view deafening, everything rampant and out of its depth. Jake didn’t know colors could turn so quickly, and he catches a glimpse of his dad’s hand, calloused and white, before everything reverts to itself. Jake’s eyes are shot, everything flickering ultraviolet. The world seems to have fallen off its axis.

His father releases a heavy sigh and stumbles for a corner of the kitchen table. For a second, Jake thinks he might be having a heart attack. His dad keels over the table, dead weight, his back and chest slumping against the wood. Even in rest, his hands are balled into fists, but his grip softens as he starts to snore.

“Do you know … what just happened?” Jake asks, forehead creased with worry. His dad’s sleeping, and at four in the afternoon, nonetheless, rays of light hitting their wallpaper harshly.

His mom exhales, eyes watery, and draws him into a hug. She winces and rubs at her left shoulder in the process, trying to hide the ache. “I’m not exactly sure, hon. The important thing is that we’re both okay, and we’ll figure everything out.”

For what it’s worth, his dad rests for a solid week 一 Jake and his mom eventually begin stacking dirty dishes on his back, saying he’s more useful when he’s unconscious anyways 一 and he wakes up a new man. First of all, he smiles constantly, which neither of them can get used to, and he also has no memory of ever fighting with Jake’s mom.

“You did the impossible!” Karen shrieks, kissing her son on the forehead. “You made him _nice!”_

Jake flushes. “No, no, he’s probably just cheerful because he slept so long.”

“That’s not human! You’re gifted from beyond this dimension!” She cups his face with both hands and nuzzles his nose, grateful past explanation.

Before Jake can protest, his mom starts singing to herself and lighting incense, now a daily habit in the Peralta household. Sun glints through the lace curtains and into the kitchen. As funny as it feels, it’s nice to see her so happy. Last night, she actually grilled hot dogs in the backyard (Jake wasn’t even sure they had a grill before??) and there were fireflies swarming around her head. They looked like stars.

Gone is every trace of his father and his touch. He’d ventured back to Jersey, promising to uphold the many ends of his many bargains. Trust is a little too good for the likes of him, but life is better anyhow.

Everything has shifted, one sun-bleached morning after another setting a clean break into motion. This might be the end of all the endings, Jake thinks, and he notices the ripped seams of his world are suturing themselves back into place.

And then an owl lands at his window, a sharp glint in its eyes, talons stained red with a letter’s wax. Jake feels a pang in his chest. Of course the miracle had been too good to be true.

That night, he climbs over the fence for the first time. Jake’s never seen Amy’s house up close, come to think of it. He brushes through the tall weeds, headfirst and nimble, breaths shortening as he thinks about Amy’s strict parents. _She’s worth it, she’s worth it,_ Jake’s mantra replays, and he knocks at her ground-floor windowsill, kneeling on the grass, trying to keep each motion reserved. 

Amy draws the screen upward with caution, cocking her head. _Jake?_ she mouths, the crinkle between her eyes deepening.

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone,” Jake whispers, resting his elbow on the edge of the window, “and I miss you. Promise. It’s a lot to explain.”

She bites her lip. “Okay, talk later? Tomorrow night, your house?”

“Thanks for understanding, Ames.” Jake grins.

Amy leans out her bedroom window and kisses him on the cheek, swift and tender all at once. He touches the spot, as if to solidify the moment ever happened.

In this light, she could almost stay in his life forever. Amy’s eyes shine before she looks down, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Jake could forget about the acceptance letter sitting on his nightstand, about the school supplies his mother has to buy. _That was a slumber spell, the headmaster had written. It’s the start of something new._

“Hey, listen, I’m leav-” Amy stutters, and the door creaks behind her. Her shoulders lock up. “You should go. Tell you later.”

Jake pecks her cheek, adrenaline guiding his every move, before he ambles over the fence once more. And Amy sits in the darkness, careful not to let the window squeak as it shuts, counting down the fragile days until autumn begins. She presses her fingers to the glass pane, wishing Jake were here. It’s hard to ponder moving away when she’s leaving her best friend behind.

 _“I’m leaving for school soon.”_ She finishes her sentence in her mind, regret flooding her system. _“It’s called Hogwarts, a train ride away. My family’s not like yours, and they’d kill me for saying this, but I can’t be your friend anymore, not the way I was. That’s the rule. Plain and simple.”_

Amy falls asleep staring at the ceiling. She’d lost track of the two-hundred-something sheep she’d been counting. How could she have wanted this with such determination? Besides, how could that hurt her, sidetracking more of her life than she’d realized?

* * *

Karen Peralta sips her herbal tea and looks out her window the next night, watching her son in the treehouse. She’s known Jake likes the girl next door for a while, seeing the way he’s gripping that letter. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of it throughout dinner. It showed up last week, carried however many miles clasped in a snow owl’s beak.

It was a funny thing, learning her son was capable of far greater than he’d ever known.

Karen smiles, murmurs an _Incendio_ with the faintest flick of her wand, and the candles strewn about her coffee table come to life once more. She hopes the arrival of the letter isn’t too hard on her son. The first rule of living here, she’s always said, is that he shouldn’t talk to the muggles next door.

* * *

Jake and Amy climb up to the treehouse slowly, not wanting to let go of their time together. September first is only a week or so away, and the oak leaves are already turning a violent maroon and gold.

“I have to start a new school soon,” Amy begins, frowning ever so slightly. Her acceptance letter’s folded up in her pocket, with the uncreasable charm her brother Andrew put on it (“I need it nice and pretty when I frame it in my room, Mom! It’s a personal milestone!”)

Jake looks at the ground beneath his feet, watching fireflies dance around the tree. “Same here, come to think of it. I probably won’t see you much, unfortunately. It’s kinda far away.”

“Me, too. I have to take a train and everything.” Amy picks at a hangnail. “So, I guess this is goodbye for a while. Mine’s a boarding school.”

Outside, a breeze runs past them, past the neighborhood and on to the next. She watches a lonesome car coast through, headlights like cats’ eyes, never stopping for any signs.

Jake grins. “Hey, same! Funny coincidence, I guess. I have to go to King’s Crossing and everything, and my mom’s going to see me off.”

“That’s where I was going to go! My brothers board there every year to move in.”

Jake sighs and his shoulders drop as he gazes to his house. He looks to Amy’s, the windows equally dark. “Just wondering, Ames, what’s your school called?”


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Pretty exciting, isn’t it?” Jake asks, knocking his shoulder against hers._   
>  _“You don’t know the half of it.”_
> 
> The Peraltas and Santiagos finally get closer, after avoiding each other for months.

Amy exhales, slow and reverent, as she holds up a finger. “So, technically, _technically,_ Dad, I didn’t break our rule.”

Victor cocks an eyebrow and mutters a spell to shut the curtains. “You’re still grounded, mija.” His heart clenches, thinking about how much danger his daughter could’ve faced.

“I always thought the Peraltas might be a wizarding family! They seem a little different, you know?” her mother Camila chimes in, clear from across the house. She works in the Ministry of Magic like her husband, but she’s twice as interested in muggle affairs.

Camila crafts her theories and observes from afar; as curious as she is, she’d never endanger her family. (Tony always says Mom’s enchanted their sea-green Ford Anglia to fly, but no one’s brave enough to test it out.)

Amy’s hand is outstretched before her, as if to quantify the magnitude of her joy. “See? Mom agrees! I was simply checking out a hunch. And I confirmed it, I should add.”

“Do we take this as a loophole, love?” Camila asks, voice plaintive. On one hand, her daughter risked more than she ever should have. On the other, Camila finally has neighbors to talk to! Plus, she can ask what the point of a four-slot toaster is. The muggles at Bed, Bath, and Beyond had been much more condescending.

Her husband chuckles in that fatherly I-don’t-think-so way, crossing his arms. “Amy, you’re not leaving the house until we go to King’s Crossing next week. Understood?”

Victor was raised under more pressure; his parents were stricter than Camila’s, purity seemingly more valuable to them than life itself. Blood purest, minds surest, the rhyme went, mouthed at graduation ceremonies and carved upon their crest. “We take this matter very seriously,” he concludes. “We understand it turned out well this time, but you need to be careful.”

“Nevertheless, we’re very proud of you for making friends before you even start school at Hogwarts!” Camila interjects.

Victor holds back a laugh, still endeared by his wife’s zeal for life after years of knowing her. “No, we’re not!”

“How else am I supposed to figure out what a rubber duck is used for?” Camila asks smugly.

He buries his head in his hands, seated at their kitchen table. “Amy, once your mother pulls up the rubber duck card, remember to end the argument.”

Amy purses her lips, hiding her joy and trying not to take sides. Most of her parents’ discussions end like this, and she was lucky to get off nearly scot-free. It isn’t until a decade later when she learns her parents knew all along.

_“Of course we were aware that you were friends with Jake!” Victor exclaims._

_“Give us some credit, Amy! We even made bets about when you’d get together!” Camila continues eagerly._

_“When your brothers came home for the holidays, we went out of our way to include them in the pool, too. It was a Santiago family bonding technique.”_

_Jake blushes, looking at his best friend. “You really weren’t afraid that we might be muggles?”_

_“Well, I’m not proud of this, but…” Camila chuckles, going on, “I saw your mom performing a cleaning charm through the window one day, and I just went from there.”_

_“The tricky thing was trying to tell Amy that we knew about you two, and about your family’s magic, without invading her privacy or making her feel embarrassed,” Victor says._

_Amy runs a hand through her hair. “Thanks a lot, Dad! How’s a kid supposed to allude to that on their own? You know how long I sat in that treehouse, trying to ask Jake if he’d be going to platform nine and three-quarters that fall?”_

_“An hour and a half? Two?”_

_“Mom! You timed it?!”_

_“Lucky guess.”_

* * *

Classes begin in a handful of days, the autumn leaves drifting downward from the trees. Amy gets most of her school supplies from her youngest brother David, who’s just finished his first year at Hogwarts. He makes a big deal out of explaining the sliding staircases and talking paintings, but Amy simply laughs and says he learned it from Tony.

Her parents pride themselves on recycling, and they even have a strict “cleanse your books with the erasing charm after use” rule in their household. Although Amy has to live without the appeal of new textbooks, she still finds a way to go back-to-school-shopping. She needs a wand of her own, she reminds her parents, and Jake does, too.

For the first time, Amy’s parents walk out the door with Mrs. Peralta. They go all the way down Diagon Alley, peeking past corners and decidedly ignoring the Knockturn side of town. It’s nearly impossible for Amy to conceal the curve of her smile as everyone makes their way outside. Her mom and dad murmur to Mrs. Peralta about old classmates and cranky professors, spells gone wrong and old quidditch matches.

It’s surreal, thinking about her parents as teenagers. They used to pull all-nighters for arithmancy exams, or count spare change at Honeydukes. They’ve always been _adults_ to her, not reckless, smart-mouthed students.

The blood thrums through Amy’s veins as she steps into the daylight, taking every detail in.

“Pretty exciting, isn’t it?” Jake asks, knocking his shoulder against hers. It was refreshing to hear his voice after being locked up at home.

At one point, he’d even started writing Amy notes and pressing them against his window. Jake had reminded her it was the plot of one of Taylor Swift’s music videos (“of course I know who she is! the songs you’ve shown me are great! you talk about her constantly, Jake!”)

“You don’t know the half of it.” She dances down a short trail of worn cobblestone, her friend finally at her side.

As the day rushes past them, it becomes impossible to remember just how long they’ve been out. With time’s demanding tone, the clouds blush pink against the sky. Jake’s company is too good not to cherish; after spending a good hour and a half in Flourish and Blotts, they coast past another stationery store, and Amy tells herself she’d stop if she were talking to anyone else.

The shopping bags grow heavy in her arms until Jake offers to hold them for her. He nearly pulls a muscle under the weight of _Hogwarts: A History,_ fifteenth edition, but it’s the thought that counts. Amy laughs, mouth covered with a slender hand, and shows him how she can carry a book on her head 一 her balance is impressive, Jake musters in between efforts to make her tip one way or another. To his chagrin, he fails, and their journey home continues all the same. 

“Was that what you expected of Diagon Alley today?” she asks, turning toward him.

Jake looked to the horizon, peace in his expression. The sky was darkening slowly, and the moon making its appearance. “It’s nicer than the pictures my mom showed me, and better than I dreamt.”

They walk over their newly-forged path, a textbook expertly poised on Amy’s head until her mother chastises her for doing so. “We’ve repeatedly told her not to do it! It’ll affect her height!”

“Who’s impressive now?” Jake teases, standing a full three inches taller than her (four and a half, actually, if he uses his tip-toes.) He tries to hide the awe in his voice, noticing Amy’s utter glee as she adds a second tome to the stack before removing them both. Parents’ orders.

“I don’t know,” she replies, modest at first, “despite what some may say about my book-balancing skills, I was still a pretty amazing liar. You really thought I was a muggle?” Her brothers usually say she’s the worst liar they’ve ever met.

“Yeah, I totally bought it,” Jake admits, tossing his head back with a grin. “I just figured you were really shy! And, you know, I assumed your parents had different traditions in Cuba!”

“I once asked you what a ballpoint pen was!” She retorts, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe you guys are a pencil family! Or maybe you have great memories and never need to write anything down! Who am I to judge?!”

Amy relishes every step of the way, sipping hot chocolate from a roadstand as she follows Jake Peralta home. She gives him her five of her mini marshmallows and he calls her his guardian angel, but without wings (“so, just like a normal person?”)

After nightfall, Amy meets Jake in the treehouse again, the first time to do so in a week, and she tells him everything he missed. Wind rustles through the branches, calm, and the crickets chirp around them. From the treetops, Amy can see her mother lighting the fireplace. There’s no place like home.

“Your brother _actually_ works with dragons in Romania? And he has a side job at Gringotts double-checking all the money for counterfeits? Plus, he paints in his spare time?!”

She hides a laugh behind her hand. “Those are three separate brothers. The first one’s Vic, and the others are Diego and Andrew. You’ll meet some of the younger ones when we go to Hogwarts.” Amy reaches out and plucks another acorn from a thin branch of oak, for old times’ sake.

“You know, it still feels unreal. We’re going to Hogwarts!” Jake smiles and leans along the makeshift doorway, squinting in hopes of piecing a constellation together. “I didn’t even know if I’d be able to attend, since my dad’s a muggle and my mom’s muggle-born. You know, I figured maybe she was just lucky.”

“Nah, you’re coming with me,” Amy replies, eyes crinkling at the edges. She looks at Jake, twirling his new wand absentmindedly. He insists on holding it wherever he goes, ever since Ollivander told him “the wand fits the wizard” and he’d believed it was a prophecy. Nobody has the heart to break the news to him.

“You mean that? You know, you’re gonna need to teach me a lot about magic. My family isn’t that … immersed in it.”

Jake blushes as his mother waves from the candlelit window. Amy makes a point of waving back, swinging her legs in the breeze.

She can see it now: the grandeur of the halls, the songs and incantations filling the air. “I mean it, a hundred percent. Won’t leave your side once we get there.”

* * *

The morning of the train ride to Hogwarts is misty. Jake’s mom cries at King’s Cross, subjecting him to a long and poetic speech about being safe and making friends.

“Mom! People are looking at us!” he shoots back, lipstick faint on his cheek, Karen still clinging onto the collar of his shirt. Mrs. Santiago hands her a handkerchief already damp with a few tears as she softly bids her daughter goodbye.

“Remember to drink lots of water,” Camila instructs. “Eight cups a day, alright, Amy? And remember to leave the library once in a while, if only to get a breath of fresh air.”

“Mom,” Amy protests, yet the grin on her face lingers, “of course. I’ll work really hard, and write back to you every week. Plus, you know, David, Andrew, and Luis will be there with me.”

As the line of eager students behind them starts to grow, Jake and Amy embrace their parents, a new separation before them.

“You know when Dad slept for that whole week? You’d put him to sleep with a spell. I woke him up.” Karen murmurs, her son in her arms. She tousles his hair. “I did the cheering charm, and the memory spell, too. I don’t do a lot of magic, ‘cause your dad doesn’t know about that. I don’t want him to. But this … this change, Jake, is all yours. Enjoy your year.”

“I’m proud of you, mija,” Victor murmurs, stroking her hair before he hugs his sons and says the same to them.

Jake and Amy haul their suitcases onto the train (well, David insists on helping, and Amy mumbles something under her breath about his annoying, overachiever-y ways. Jake knows something’s up when Amy’s willing to stoop to improper grammar for an insult..)

They sit across from her brothers, Amy introducing her best friend before he promptly engages Andrew in a long discussion about which professors to avoid. He entertains Jake with rumors that stretch years back, before either of them were even born (“no! she was an animagus right from the start?!”)

The seats are worn and greyed, stray tufts of fringe poking out from the seams. Amy looks out the window for a moment, watching the sea of waving parents donned in black coats, and she knows life will never be the same. She wonders how many students have sat in her place, or if she’d traced over someone’s exact steps on her way to the train. It’s a curious thing, a living history. A shiver traces down her back.

“So, Jake, are your parents wizards? Haven’t heard of the Peralta wizarding family,” Luis asks, stroking his thin goatee (“you look like you started unclogging a shower drain with your mouth!” Amy’d teased only last week.)

“Yeah, I don’t know much about magic. You’re going to need to define animagus, by the way, from that story about McGonagall. Technically,” Jake replies, rubbing the nape of his neck,“my dad’s a muggle.”

“Mam’s a witch,” Amy chimes in, her voice colored with a poor Irish accent.

“Bitofanastyshockforhimwhenhefoundout,” she and her three brothers say, each word more elated than the next, giggling as they stumble toward the end of their sentence.

Seeing the confused look on Jake’s face, Amy whispers “I’ll explain later” into his ear. She notices his shoulders loosen up. It must be difficult for a half-blood like him, she thinks, not knowing much about magic. All those nights Jake spent explaining muggle culture (“they waste their engineering skills and make a _roomba_?!), and she never returned the favor.

Overhead, the thunder cracks. The sky is grey, clouds billowing like candle smoke, and Amy leans back in her seat, rummaging through her satchel for a hand-me-down book: Sartre’s Spells for the Student, twelfth edition.

“You want to practice magic?” she asks Jake, nudging his arm. He’s currently entranced in a few of Andrew’s chocolate frog cards, Rita Skeeter frowning at him from the gold foil. “Here, I’ll show you exactly how to swish and flick. Better yet, I’ll show you how to do it a tiny bit wrong, where it’ll work perfectly but it’ll annoy David to no end.”

“I heard that!”

“Serves you right, David.” A tall girl, her hair turned valentine’s pink at the tips, walks up to their carriage and tilts her head. Her voice is a little rough over the rumble of the train. “Hey, Amy, is that seat next to you taken?”

“Rosa? Hey, long time no see!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! any comments + kudos are greatly appreciated.


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Santiago, Amy!” the sorting hat calls out. She waves from the stage and slips the hat on. Jake realizes Amy might just be saying hello to her family members, but he, for some reason, wants to be the object of her affection._
> 
> Jake and Amy arrive at Hogwarts, where they meet Rosa, Gina, and Charles.

Everything is so new to Jake. The ships they sail into Hogwarts as they follow the trail of lights, the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall that looks like outer space, and even Rosa, the mysterious new friend who’s apparently a Metamorphmagus (“Luis, I’ll copy your appearance, but I’m not including your horrible goatee”) are wonderful and exhausting at the same time.

The sorting hat, to put it lightly, terrifies Jake beyond repair. The eyes and open mouth jutting into the worn leather? The song it apparently spent last year composing?! It’s just his luck that Peralta precedes Santiago in the alphabet, and so he’s forced to clamber up the steps before Amy does.

When the hat shouts out _Gryffindor!_ after a pause, Jake’s fears are put to ease. His mom was in Gryffindor, too. Amy’s brothers are already there, he reminds himself, and so’s Rosa.

She was eclectic, to say the least. Rosa’s hard to describe: sarcastic, melodramatic, and obsessed with Nancy Meyers movies? Jake can’t tell if it’s fitting for someone dressed head to toe in black (“this shade is _raven_ , the others are charcoal, midnight, and pitch! get it together!” she’d corrected David on the train.) He was just glad to find someone else who was raised with muggles.

“Santiago, Amy!” the sorting hat calls out.

She waves from the stage and slips the hat on. It’s so large, it falls past her ears. Jake realizes Amy might just be saying hello to her family members, but he, for some reason, wants to be the object of her affection.

The crowd’s murmurs fall to a standstill as the hat ruminates for a good three or four minutes before, too, calling out Gryffindor.

Jake, Rosa, and the Santiago brothers applaud as Amy removes the hat and scampers down the stairs, running into her friend’s arms.

“I was so nervous, Jake! Tony told me I’d have to fight a troll to get sorted!” she exclaims, jumping up and down. “But, hey, we’re in the same house! I was really worried we wouldn’t be. You know, my parents told me the houses are friendly for the most part, but they’re still pretty clique-y, and I didn’t want to get separated, ‘cause then it’d be harder to start here…” her voice trails off.

Jake hugs Amy tightly, nestling his head above her shoulder. “It worked okay, just like I told you.”

He exhales as Amy lets go of him. Beyond his wildest dreams, this is life now: libraries that extend so far that their bookshelves they might never end, coiling staircases, and chess pieces capable of playing dead. He would wear wizard robes and do everything his mom used to tell him in bedtime stories 一 she’d insisted it was made-up for so long, hiding magic from her husband, that it felt even better to wake up and walk through this reality.

“This way!” the Gryffindor prefects call, Luis Santiago among them. He’d been repeatedly polishing his new badge on the train, Jake remembers.

He soon meets the other boys sharing his room: Charles Boyle, Stevie Schillens, and someone named Joe Uterus? Jake makes a mental note to tell Amy later. Joe and Stevie quickly start talking and leave to walk around the campus, so Jake greets his only remaining roommate as he crosses his fingers.

It works, evidently.

Charles is clingy but kind, descended from a long line of purebloods who all seem to take pride in their strangeness. Jake soon learns about a few of Charles’ cousins: Becca, who squeezes organic pumpkin juice; Susan, an up-and-coming singer in her forties; and Milton, a professional skier.

“Who’s even heard of the Olive Picks?” Charles blurts, sitting down on the freshly cleaned covers of his bed.

Jake laughs, sitting on his bed cross-legged, across from Charles. “The _Olympics_ are contests for the best athletes in the world! Trust me, my dad’s a muggle, and my family watches them every four years.”

Charles scoffs. “What, they’re not even annual? Milton’s probably slacking off in the three years in between!”

“No, the athletes train during that time, just hoping to qualify,” Jake explains. “Muggle sports are different. But, hey, at least you don’t have to fly a broom to participate.”

Charles pauses. “Well, I guess that’s true. Maybe I should cut him some slack. It’s really tough on him, being a squib, anyways.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like being muggle-born, but the reverse. Your whole family has magic and you don’t, for some reason,” Charles says. “Are you a muggle-born? I don’t mean to pry or anything, it’s just that most wizarding families teach their kids that kind of stuff.”

Jake shakes his head. “Half-blood, technically. My dad’s a muggle and my mom’s a muggle-born. She was in Gryffindor, too.” He thinks of home, of his mother’s warm apple pie, of the family photos has stashed in his luggage. He misses his mom already.

“That’s so cool! Most of my family’s been in Hufflepuff, but a lot of my cousins are in-”

There’s a soft knock at the door of their room. Jake recognizes the four synonymous beats at once. “Hey, sorry. Charles, are girls allowed in the boys’ quarters?”

“I guess it’s not so bad, right? It’s not like there’s only one guy here. Who is it?”

Amy walks in with ease, as if the doors are parting especially for her, and shakes Charles’ hand. She’s already wearing her dress robes for tomorrow. “Hi, I’m Amy Santiago, first-year student, also Jake’s best friend. Pleasure to meet you.” Jake notices her gold-striped tie is neatly dimpled; her brother Andrew had been teaching her how to do it on the Hogwarts express. 

“Hi,” he replies, smiling, “I’m Charles Boyle, Jake’s new roommate.”

“Ooh, as in the Rockport Boyles, who specialize in calligraphy up in Maine?” Amy asks.

“The very same! You really know your stuff! The trick is actually to grass-feed the yaks, so their hairs are softer when we make the brushes.”

Amy moves to sit down on Jake’s bed, motioning toward his duvet cover. He responds with a subtle eye-roll and a persistent shake of his head, to which she smacks him on the arm.

“I can’t believe you! I can sit down, can’t I?” she exclaims, laughing. “It’s fine, I already read the handbook twice, plus my brother’s the prefect.”

Charles raises an eyebrow at their silent chatter, glancing at his roommate as he pokes Amy in the shoulder. The night continues like this, the conversation sweeping forward, though, sometimes, Jake and Amy bring up a term or a joke that Charles doesn’t understand.

_“Remember that time Andrew snuck out to Mrs. Pewter’s house and ding-dong-ditched her? Your dad was furious!”_

_“Forget the swine flu! Wasn’t as bad as when your mom got heatstroke because she used SPF 10 instead of, what, 100?”_

_“It was kind of like that inflatable Santa with the sunglasses close to the Super Walmart.”_

Charles whimpers. At Hogwarts, he thought he’d be completely in the know, but it feels like just the opposite. “Guys, you’re going to have to explain so many muggle terms. What’s Super Walmart? Is it like a disease?” 

Amy bites her lip. She’s only been there a few times with her mom, but she knows about the company thanks to Jake. “Technically, no. Walmart’s a business. It does suck the life out of mom-and-pop stores, though, which would make it a parasite.”

“And what’s...” Charles pauses, words left hanging in the air, “ding-dong- _ditching?_ Does it leave any survivors?”

* * *

Amy leaves Jake’s room a few hours later, then begins to unpack her things. After living so long with her father and seven boys, it’s a breath of fresh air to live with three girls. She’s boarding with Rosa, as luck would have it, and two other students named Sophia and Kylie. They seem kind, from their exchanges so far.

Amy notices Rosa hasn’t made any moves to change her appearance yet. Maybe she wants to be more secretive about being a Metamorphmagus, now that she’s at Hogwarts. Back in New Hampshire, where they’d met, Rosa couldn’t go an hour without transforming into someone else. It’d been a game to them: ‘a tall, bearded motorcyclist!’, Amy would shout out, ‘or a strawberry picker with blonde highlights in her braids!’

That feels like a long time ago, when it was only two years ago or so.

Amy sets up her last belonging, a framed picture of her family at last year’s Christmas. She remembers it well; Jake had given her a snow globe, upon her enchantment with them (“doesn’t the water inside ever dry up?”), and she’d gotten him a quill. It was just plain enough to pass as non-magic, but special in and of itself. Amy didn’t know if Jake had brought with him to school, but, without knowing why, she hoped he had.

Outside the meager little window by Amy’s corner of the room, she saw the rest of the towers, a few turrets covered by thin, sheetlike clouds. This was where her parents and brothers had studied, and their parents and brothers before that. (Santiagos, it was commonly known, only had boys. Amy was the exception to their rule.)

The night drags on, restless, and the breezes pick up. Amy takes to thinking while she lies down on her bed, striped socks pressed against the wall. In her crowded mind, she starts to wonder if she will ever be enough, if she can make her parents proud.

Despite her gratitude that she’s finally here, Amy still misses the treehouse and the midnights spent with Jake by her side (well, they were more like ten-o’-clocks, at her age, but that’s not as poetic.) Amy’s living with an old friend and two perfect strangers, all of whom are quiet, so she must be as well. No more sneaking out every night. It’d be embarrassing enough to get caught by Charles or Stevie, not to mention the prefects on patrol. If Luis found her sneaking out of her room, she’d never hear the end of it.

Amy pulls her photo album open, some images moving and the others stone-still, and looks back on older times. Jake is in nearly all the images, and she smiles as she glimpses him. Amy flips through the tie-dye shirt phase and past his obsession with Die Hard (technically, he hasn’t gotten _past_ that, but at least his mom hid the Nakatomi Plaza jacket they’d bought.)

The memories give her peace. She hadn’t really thought that possible. _This is what you wanted,_ Amy thinks, reminding herself, _and this is where you wanted to be._ She sleeps dreamlessly that night.

* * *

**Day one of classes:** Amy tries on three different pairs of socks before leaving her room.

Jake quietly mumbles to her that she shouldn’t feel bad; he spent half an hour tying his tie before asking Charles to do it for him. They walk side by side to all their classes and they always sit together, earning a glare from Professor Wuntch, who teaches potions, and a high-five from Professor Jeffords, the herbology specialist.

“Wait, did we have any homework?” Amy whispers as soon as Professor Cozner mentions something about summer preparation halfway through Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“It’s the first day of school,” Jake counters, watching her breathing slow. He sees her knapsack is stuffed with books, their pages yellowed with age. Amy hurriedly starts taking notes with her newest quill. The inkpot spills with a sweep of her hand and Rosa, two seats away, comes to her rescue with a quiet _Scurgio._

Amy gasps. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou-”

Rosa responds with a soft nod.

On their way back from DADA, Jake takes the wrong staircase up the north wing and ends up ten minutes late to Charms. Or, as he puts it, “I arrived at a wonderland full of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle paraphernalia! There was a life-size cutout of Leonardo!”

“And this, students, is called the Room of Requirement. It’s very difficult to find, and fulfills a person’s wildest dreams.” Professor Hawkins smiles, thinking about the last time she entered it. There were diamonds everywhere. “For tardiness, two points from Gryffindor.”

Students, mostly clad in green, chuckle from the other side of the room. Hawkins changes her tune. “I’d better take four points from Slytherin, then. Wouldn’t want to teach my students the wrong lesson. An innocent mistake is one thing, but making fun of someone else’s error is another.”

The students begin to simmer down.

 **Day two of classes:** Jake remembers which staircase to take this time. He shows up ten minutes early to every subject, as per Amy’s suggestion.

“Is it like this?” Jake asks, having tried the first charm five times already. He doesn’t want to look bad in front of Professor Hawkins again.

Amy puts her right hand over his. “No, you should use gentler strokes. Swish and flick. And, also, it’s leviosa, not levio- _sar.”_

“Thanks.” He murmurs the Latin to himself before saying it once more, and the feather begins to lift. “Where’d you learn that?”

Amy shrugs, falsely nonchalant. She doesn’t want to brag. “Uh, David taught me.”

The first few weeks of school are different for everyone. Amy busies herself in the library, carrying stacks upon stacks of books in her arms. She consistently balances one or two on her head, as Jake fondly remembers. They do everything together, including studying, which is pretty good for his grades 一 he’s never seen so many As on his report card!

 _An A means ‘acceptable’ to wizards, below E (exceeds expectations) and then O (outstanding)._ It’s also the best grade possible for a muggle. Amy has no clue how to break the news to him, and she gives Jake a shy nod every time he celebrates to himself.

Her parents always say half-bloods and muggle-borns are just as capable of learning magic, but Amy starts to realize that the playing field isn’t level to begin with.

“Hey, what’d you get on that History of Magic essay about the goblin raids?” Jake asks, setting down his bag. “Look, I got an E! Haven’t done that before.”

Amy busies herself in her satchel, rummaging through her multicolored folders before gingerly taking out her paper. “Uh, I got an O,” she says, dismissing the time she’d poured into it.

“Too bad, I guess,” he replies. “Better luck next time.”

(The next day, Rosa finally stages an intervention and explains the grading scale because Amy’s too conscientious to do it. Jake spends two days living in the Hogwarts library, fueled by caffeine pills he brought from home, before the librarian kicks him out.)

* * *

Rosa takes a special pleasure in walking behind Jake and Amy, then morphing into one of them. She can’t get over how close they are. At this point, she can perfectly replicate that one brown curl in the front of Jake’s face, or the scar on the bridge of Amy’s nose.

“How do you keep doing that?!” Jake yells, watching the two Amys trailing next to him.

One of them smirks. “I’ll give you a clue,” she says, then turns her hair silver in the blink of an eye. She sticks her tongue out at a Slytherin gawking at her in the stairway.

Amy exhales. “Thank you so much! I was thinking about coloring my hair like that when I’m older. It looks horrible on me! Well, you, I guess.”

“Thanks a lot.” Rosa smirks and turns back to her normal self, eyebrow scar and all. “Always happy to help you test out hair colors, Ames.”

Jake laughs, clutching his satchel by the strap. “Hey, hey, show me how I’d look if I got a nose job.”

Rosa turns her head quizzically, and Amy explains, “Muggle medical technique. Typically changes a big nose to a smaller one. And, _no,_ Jake, don’t even think about getting one. Your nose is fine! Great, even.”

Jake nods, sarcastic, and sits down in the common room. Classes are done for the day, and they normally study and socialize here. “Since when have _you_ noticed?” He doesn’t know if he wants her to care.

“Well, it’s not really a compliment-” Amy blurts, then pauses briefly. “Just, generally, y’know, I want all people to like their noses. This, in no way, is about you or … your face, or me.”

She crosses her arms, then sets down her bag and takes out her copy of _Charms for the First-Year._ Amy leans over and buries her face in the text, reading so closely her vision goes blurry.

Rosa silences, trying to spare her friend any further embarrassment. She turns her hair back to pink, the way she likes it best, and starts next Friday’s herbology homework at once. Then, Rosa mouths ‘let it go’ to Jake, noticing the flush on the nape of Amy’s neck.

Jake taps Amy on the shoulder and gives her an ‘sorry, that was awkward’ look, complete with a head nod. She shoots him a ‘you mean it?’ eyebrow raise, and he nods again with clarity.

Honestly, Rosa thinks, it’s like they have their own little language. She’s definitely friends with them, but they’re closer with each other still.

“Hey! Are any of you that metamorphmagus roaming around the school?” calls a girl with short brown hair walking up to them. She flashes the snake pin on the collar of her shirt, and Rosa realizes it’s the Slytherin girl from the hall.

Rosa grins, waving. “Yeah, that’s me. I’m Rosa Diaz, Gryffindor. Sorry for sticking my tongue out at you, by the way. It’s just that some people tend to gawk or stare when I’m changing my appearance.”

The girl smiles back, straightening her tie. “No, I just wanted to say hi! Sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I’m Gina Linetti, Slytherin.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, Gina. You were the one studying in the library last week, who helped me with my essay, right?” Rosa’s cheeks pinken, matching her ponytail. “I see you around all the time!”

“Yeah, that was me.” Gina laughs, sitting down next to her. “I see you a lot, too! Or, at least, I think so. You have no clue how hard it is to introduce yourself to a metamorphmagus. Guess how many people I’ve asked, trying to figure out which one I could say hi to.”

Rosa looks to Gina, putting away her homework and quill. One-handed, she slings her bag over her shoulder. “You know, if I go with you to the dining hall, can I guess there?”

Gina shrugs. “Sounds like a plan.”

As they leave together, Amy rakes a hand through her hair and turns to look at Jake. “Oh, my gosh! Did you see that? They’re, like, friend _soulmates!_ That Gina girl didn’t even ask what our names were!”

Jake thinks about watching Amy drink coffee for the first time, about posing for pictures with her in his backyard, about learning Spanish slang from her.

“Hey, if you can find a friend soulmate in your life, you better cling onto them,” he says.

Amy gazes off into the distance for a moment. She tucks her hair behind both ears. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a time jump to fourth year. Jake and Amy grow ever closer (awkward mistletoe kisses!!! you can blame Camila Santiago!!!!)

Jake Peralta loves with a fury, refusing to stop. He spends late nights studying in his friends’ company, writes letters home to his mom with moving pictures attached. His life is about satisfying as it can get (annoying Keith Pembroke even transfers out of Hogwarts and goes off to Durmstrang!) before fourth year rolls around in the blink of an eye.

In an instant, everything is different.

Jake celebrates his fourteenth birthday in the Gryffindor common room, complete with a blue-frosted cake that Charles makes and a confetti spell that Amy studies for a week and a half to perfect (“hey, it’s about time, Ames! you know how many years I had to wait for you to attend my birthday party?”)

Amy gets him candy and a dragon-themed snow globe from Romania, which she picked up on a trip to visit her older brother. She attaches a long note about the meaningfulness of their friendship (at one point, she even uses the phrase “meant to be”) and blushes upon handing it to him.

“I know, I know, the note’s kind of sappy, and I could’ve gotten you more stuff-”

“No, not at all,” Jake interrupts her, fingers skimming over the expensive stationery she used. He recalls she’d visited Flourish and Blotts a good ten times looking for this brand. “This is really great of you.”

Her eyes flick up to him. “You sure?”

“Of course!” he consoles her. “I love it. And, besides, this note is getting an uncreasable charm once I figure out how to do one. It’s an important life milestone, like you always say.”

“So it can go into the Jake Peralta achievement binder?” she suggests, eyes glossing over the crisp collar on his shirt.

“Ames, you know that thing’s empty,” he mutters. “I spend hours studying just to get a passing grade in one of my classes.”

“You get Es in your classes! You’ve achieved plenty!” Amy protests, giving him a glare and holding up her pointer finger. “For your next birthday, I’m making you a scrapbook of all your personal and academic victories. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Jake laughs, arms crossed over each other. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this content; school’s anything but relaxed these days. “You’re the best, Ames.”

Amy spends Jake’s entire party talking with him, not minding it in the least.

* * *

Amy’s fourteenth birthday, a few months later, is magic. It’s over the winter holidays, on December thirteenth (“just like taylor swift!” Jake can’t help but exclaim.) Her brothers make a point of baking her thirteen red velvet cupcakes and they take family photos together.

“Peralta, get in here!” Luis calls, and Jake’s breath catches in his throat before he walks over to the Santiagos.

Amy loves every second of the day: the glitter on the floor, the childhood stories, the red banners slung along the walls. This moment is caught in time, it seems; swept up in glory.

“Hey, happy birthday!” Jake greets her at the party. His hands are behind his back, hiding the present he bought for her.

In an effort to impress her, Jake had asked Charles to help him gift-wrap it, which meant he had to sit through an hour-long discussion on the different types of ribbon he could use. (“Does Amy have a taffeta personality, or is she a tulle kind of girl? If you decide, we can start picking out the wrapping paper, and this is where it gets really tricky…”)

“Hi! Thanks for coming,” Amy says, smoothing her hands along the edge of her new black skirt. “What’s that, my gift?”

All jokes aside, the present is gorgeous. Amy tenderly plucks off the bow and nicks at the wrapping paper with her nails, trying to save it for next year. Thanks to Jake’s sticking charm, it doesn’t come off until her mom comes over and murmurs _finite incantatem._

“Jake! This diary you got Amy is so nice!” Camila squeals. “And … what are these, really skinny candles?”

He blushes. “Those are the good muggle pens, for writing. Amy kept complaining about how her quills were dappling ink everywhere, so I bought these for her.”

“That’s so sweet of you! Amy, you have to let me borrow those sometime,” Camila says, then pauses to gaze at the archway above them. In preparation for Christmas in two weeks, the Santiagos have hung small sprigs of mistletoe around their house. “Well, would you look at that. Good timing! Here, mija, I’ll take your presents for you…”

Amy gives Jake an embarrassed ‘you know someone planned this’ look as she hands over her new diary and pens. “This okay with you?”

“Um, yeah. All good. Holiday tradition, cool, cool, cool,” he mumbles, not knowing what to do with his hands. Amy laughs, placing her hands on Jake’s shoulders and pulling him in for a peck on the cheek. After receiving another on the opposite side, she laughs as she lets go, too.

“You alright?” Amy asks, looking up to her best friend. Her hands are still on the back of his neck. She’s a few inches shorter than him, she can’t help but notice. 

Jake blinks twice, a little dazed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Totally fine. Happy birthday, Ames.” He tries not to fixate on how joyful she looks, wrapped in her brother’s hand-me-down pine tree sweater. Instead, he concentrates on how the air smells like cookies. His mother’s black boots are stacked by the door. Amy’s dad’s favorite muggle font is apparently Garamond? He’ll do anything to distract his busy mind.

Jake hugs her on New Year’s as the clock strikes midnight, kissing the top of her forehead if only for tradition’s sake, and sirens start to ring in his head.

* * *

Fourth year’s a lot tougher than Jake lets on. He spends his waking moments studying in the library with his friends, trying to memorize the content on the pages until his eyes are sore. He’s always playing catch-up, it seems. It’ll never end.

“Okay, what’s the first step to brewing Pepperup potion?” Charles quizzes, holding their textbook before him.

Jake grits his teeth together. He’d studied Pepperup with Amy last year, but he can’t remember much. “Um, clean out the cauldron?”

Charles shakes his head. “You first cut up the mandrake root, the first ingredient. Okay, do you remember the next part?”

“Wait, I know this! You grind up the unicorn horn, right?” He pages through his folder, a pit in his stomach dropping as his gaze traces over the familiar red marks.

Charles sighs, bookmarking the page and shutting the cover. “It’s actually bicorn horn, but you were right aside from that.”

Jake groans. Back home, he was fine at spelling or algebra, but those subjects are useless now. There’s so much to remember, it goes in one ear and out the other. He can’t remember the last time he slept a solid eight hours without being gripped by the paranoia that he’ll fail an assignment or an essay. He can envision it now: everyone will slowly realize he doesn’t belong there, and the whispers will increase in volume until they deafen him.

“Hey! I just got back from seeing my brother Vic, he’s a few hours away-” Amy walks into the library at that moment. “Wait, are you alright?” She notices the half-hidden panic on Jake’s face. 

“Okay, I guess,” Jake mumbles, hands in the pockets of his robes. He doesn’t even have enough time to write home, and she’s off traveling to see her brother? “I keep answering all these practice questions wrongly. Can’t even remember how to make Pepperup.”

 _They’ll look down on you,_ he thinks briefly. _You shouldn’t have asked._

Charles looks up to his friends, then back to his work. He figures Amy’ll know what to say, and he’s not going to get in her way. As Papa Boyle used to say, in times of stress, the pill bug crawls up into a ball and ignores all its problems.

Amy sits and pulls her potions book open, brushing through its worn pages and pointing to an acronym on the page. She slides it across the wooden desk. “Here, secret of the trade. All you have to do is memorize this.”

“Yeah, but there’s a separate trick for every potion we’ve covered in class! How do you keep them from getting confused?” Jake protests. He yawns and stretches his arms, his hands and joints aching a little. He’s even starting to develop a writer’s bump.

Amy bites her lip. “Uh, ‘cause my mom taught me. She makes Pepperup every year, to save money, and she lets me liquify the mayfly wings or mix in the bicorn powder. If you want, I could try and help you...” her voice trails off, a weak thread in the fabric of their conversation.

Jake thinks about scrambling to make Pepperup in class, the single chance he’d received to practice. He’d spilled half the mandrake root shavings into his stock of belladonna, altering the consistency of the potion. His fingers had shaken as he’d fumbled the last step, still coming up short, coming up empty.

 _Messed up again, hmm?_ , the smirk on Professor Wuntch’s face seemed to say. No wonder Headmaster Holt hates her.

Jake’s inadequacy takes him away from himself. The exhaustion, the newness of it all, it’s too much to bear on his own. “Typical. You guys get everything, don’t you?”

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

 _In times of stress, observe from afar. That’s why Switzerland is so peaceful and their cheese industry is booming,_ Charles tells himself.

“You’re a pureblood. You know exactly what that comes with,” Jake snaps. He locks his knees, pulse only beginning to race. “It’s not hard work that gets you where you are, it’s all the experience. You were just lucky to be born into a family like yours.”

“So you think I haven’t worked for what I have, then?” Amy demands, after a beat. Her voice is quieter than he would’ve expected.

“Don’t you think that _what you have_ might come from, I don’t know,” Jake pauses, his palm thudding as it hits the table, “your parents, who’ve gone out of their way to show you magic since you could walk? Or your brothers, who tell you everything about a class before you take it?”

Jake’s neck hurts, sore from sleeping in the wrong position last night, and he presses his fingers along the row of vertebrae there.

“I’m a good student because of my work ethic, not who I’m related to. Whenever you were stressing out over class, remember I was right next to you, working too?” Amy crosses her arms and sighs, snatching away her potions book from Jake’s end of the table. A page nearly rips as she does. “I’m going to my room. Shouldn’t have bothered trying to help. I’ll see you when you decide to grow up.”

“Don’t expect _that_ to happen anytime soon!” Jake yells after her.

He wrings his hands, his breaths uneven; he can’t stand the stale air in the room, can’t tolerate conflict after living through it for so long.

Jake gives Charles a weak nod, guilt seeping through his system and into his actions. “Messed that up, didn’t I?”

“It wasn’t that hard to give her credit where credit is due. Amy’s a focused student, but that doesn’t mean you’re not,” Charles murmurs. He tips his head back as his gaze goes to the stairwell, looking for her. Jake does the same.

* * *

“Amy, there you are,” Jake calls. He’s glad to see her, although her reaction is about as annoyed as he’d expected.

Amy’s arms are crossed along the front of her white button-down. She leans against the entrance to her room, as if she can’t decide whether or not to go in. Evidently, he’s helped her make up her mind; Amy slips through the double doors wordlessly.

Jake sighs. He raps at the entryway, two swift knocks followed by two slow ones. It’s their signal, dating back to nights spent at each other’s windowsills.

“Amy, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was just jealous, and I took it out on you unfairly.”

“You mean it?” her voice comes from the other side, still withdrawn from him. He’s not used to that tone, not from her.

Jake gulps, hanging his head. “Yeah. Absolutely. It was my fault. Let me in and I’ll explain it to you, kay?”

She pushes the door open softly, lock unlatching with a click. “Fine, but this better be good. I’m talking eloquent stuff, Jake.” Amy shuts the door again once he’s inside.

“What’re you thinking? Like, as poetic as Taylor Swift’s fourth album?” he suggests, knowing it’s her favorite.

Amy’d insisted on borrowing his mom’s chipped Walkman for a good two months, he recalls (“what in the world is an iTunes??”). He can still see her asking him about all the muggle terms in the lyrics.

_“Define a refrigerator light? And a yacht club party? And where’s Madison Square??”_

It feels like a long time ago.

“Well, the lyricism of _Red_ might be setting the bar a little too high.” Amy chuckles, shrugging in the slightest. And, as if he’s forgotten- “I’m still mad at you. Even though you’re my best friend, it wasn’t fair of you to say that.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They sit down on her bed together, Jake a little more nervous to do so. He can’t seem to stop shaking his leg. “Hey, um, did I ever tell you about my dad?”

Amy’s shoulders drop as she exhales. “A little. You said he was a muggle, and I figured that was why you didn’t know a lot about magic.”

“Yeah, he’s the reason why,” Jake replies, knee still bobbing up and down rhymically. “My mom didn’t want him to know she was a witch, so she didn’t tell me, either. I had no clue until I did magic myself, on accident. They were having this huge fight a few years ago, and I just lost control.”

He prods at his writer’s bump, a bad habit, before going on. “I know I shouldn’t, but I kind of blame him for everything. He left my mom and made her so scared of being hurt again. She hid magic from him and from me, so I’m not used to spells and potions like you are. And my dad’s part of the reason why my family’s so scattered. You have all these brothers, but it’s only me and my mom at home. We don’t have anyone to reach out to, let alone anyone with magic.”

“You know, you’re making it really hard for me to hold a grudge,” Amy grumbles, drawing him into a side hug. Through her upsetness, she still wishes she could make things easier. “So you were just frustrated today, then?”

“Yeah, my dad, uh, sent me a letter yesterday saying that he wants to visit me here, but I can’t tell him about Hogwarts, obviously,” Jake murmurs, hugging her tighter. She smells a little like vanilla, he notices, trying in vain to ignore it. “I haven’t seen him in ages, and there you were talking about visiting Vic. I got annoyed, it was my faul-”

Amy casts her eyes downward. “Sorry. I really shouldn’t have been rubbing it in.”

“No, it’s still my problem. I shouldn’t have said that stuff about you. You’re really dedicated in whatever you do, and it’s just a coincidence that you have a really supportive family,” Jake interrupts, distantly trying to remember the last time he saw his father. He sighs. “Just a load of stress coming to the surface, and you got caught in the crossfire.”

“So, we’re okay, then?” he asks. “Can everything back to normal?”

Amy nods, taking Jake’s hand and dragging him out to the common room. He raises an eyebrow, lost. “I figure we could use some magic, and the rules say we’re allowed to perform spells out here,” Amy murmurs, swishing her wand three times. _“Aeris claritas pars.”_

Jake lets his gaze travel to the ceiling, where confetti starts to rain down on his and Amy’s robes. It glints red and silver under the lights. “Aw, Ames, this is so nice of you! Cheesy, I have to say, but nice. You’ve _got_ to teach me that charm sometime.”

She knocks her shoulder against his, making some of the glitter there fall down. “Sure, as soon as we finish studying for the potions test next week. Now, what’s the first step to making Pepperup?”

Rosa and Charles walk past the room at that moment, looking through the doorway confusedly. There are scattered trails of confetti strewn across the floor, and some’s fallen into Amy’s hair. Rosa frowns. “Didn’t you say they were having a huge fight, like, half an hour ago?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” Charles smiles, halting to watch. Inside, Jake laughs, reaching out to throw a small pile of glitter in Amy’s face. She reciprocates by doing the same, alight under joy’s spell.

“Aw,” Rosa murmurs, “looks like they made up.” 

“They’re friend soulmates, aren’t they?” Charles asks, cupping a hand to his face in adoration.

Rosa refuses to dignify his question with a response at first, but she nods slightly. “Course.”

* * *

Professor Wuntch’s exam is grueling, to say the least. The room is stone-cold (“rule number one of test-taking, always dress in layers!” Amy had reminded them) and the slightest cough or shuffle elicits a glare (again, usually from Amy.)

“Five minutes left, class!” Wuntch announces, a sheen in her eyes that only cruel teachers have managed to perfect.

Jake stirs his solution twice, keeping the strokes counterclockwise. First the rain, then the sunset, he thinks. Hiccoughing Draught begins grey, then shifts to an orange hue.

The potion is a little too dark for his liking, but it brightens as soon as he adds the bubotuber pus. Five more clockwise turns, Jake reminds himself, and the liquid in his cauldron stops bubbling. Everything is still, though his breaths are shaky.

Jake raises his hand wordlessly, the blood rushing in his ears, and Wuntch comes over to his workstation.

 _Good job,_ she mouths, dismissing him with a swat of her hand. Jake grabs his satchel and bolts without a second glance, not even caring when the door slams behind him. His eyes are dry and heavy, and he’s never missed Starbucks so much in his life.

 _Wizards, honestly,_ he thinks. _You can transform a spoon into a mouse, but you can’t discover caffeine? You know, we aren’t all capable of performing Energizing Charms._

“Jake!” Amy exclaims, breathless as she catches up to him. Her hair is thrown into a messy bun, held back with a large clip. “See, wasn’t I right when I suggested staying up to study a bit more?”

“How are you still up?! You left the library at, like, 3 AM!”

Amy laughs, senseless and numb from her own doing. “No, no, no, I still have to finish that transfiguration assign-”

“Go to bed!” Everything is so loud in his mind. It occurs to Jake that his knees may just give out from under him.

“Exhaustion is temporary, academics are permanent!” Amy blurts, words harshly uttered in a single breath. “I am seeing things clearlier! I’ve got to have ambition! I need to be _productive!”_

“Clearlier isn’t a word,” Jake corrects, but he can feel the weight of exhaustion quieting his speech. He trudges forward with her, leaning on her if only to keep himself upright. Amy sways as well, sleep-drunk, the only kind of drunk she’s ever been. Even in midday, they shield their eyes from the sun, pouring in through the windows.

Amy slips her hand into Jake’s (for balance, she supplies, not for any other reason) and she lugs him down the ancient hall. They end up on a couch in the common room, passed out with the need for solace, Amy’s head pressed to Jake’s shoulder as she finally, finally rests.

Jake’s the best thing that’s happened to her, although the thought only comes to light as she falls into a slumber. And, before the rambling questions of ‘what is he to you?’ and ‘how are you _possibly_ supposed to sort this out?’ can reach Amy, she’s gone, legs slack against the cushions. Her chin is rough against the thinly stitched fabric.

Amy dreams of Jake, kind and gentle against the rainy skies he loves so much. He’s hard to forget, even in her subconscious. He has that kind of gravity.

* * *

As he wakes up a few hours later, Jake realizes Amy’s arm is slung over his shoulder, pulling him in. Her skin is warm and her robes are soft, he notices, his head spinning all the while. He’s never been this close to her. Without thinking, in this split second he’s been allowed, he brushes closer.

“Hey, Amy,” he whispers, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You said you wanted to get s’more work done, remember?”

She groans. “Don’t wanna.”

If this were anyone else, Jake would jostle her awake, relentless in his need to help her achieve what she wants. If this were anyone else, she’d already be awake. But this is Amy, tangible and quiet, sprawled out on the couch and so close that he has to control his breathing. This is different. He clears his throat, never before faced with this.

Jake leaves her as she is, overcome with a feeling he can’t quite place. He’s capsized, almost.

“You’re so nice,” Amy drawls, eyes still shut as she presses her palm against Jake’s chest. She talks in her sleep, he recalls. “You are, you are.”

His legs are already falling asleep, but he doesn’t budge an inch. “Yeah, you think so?”

Jake sighs, thinking about her for the fifteenth time today.

There are freckles dappled on the bridge of her nose, even though he tries not to fixate on that. Her sneakers are stained grey from spilling an ingredient halfway through the potions exam; he’d looked over and mouthed _‘nice’_ , earning one of Amy’s signature ‘fight me’ scowls. The collar of her shirt is uneven from misaligning the row of white buttons, which he knows’ll drive her crazy the moment she awakens.

“Mm-hm, c’n you help me?” Amy’s drowsy words come spilling out, one after the other. Her speech is slow. “Lost my glasses. Hafta pick b’fore the ice-cream guy glares at me again.”

Jake grins to himself, thoroughly lost for her.

* * *

“So, you and Amy, huh?” Charles asks, elbowing Jake once they’re back in their room. He claps his hands together giddily. “Finally! Don’t think I didn’t see you two cuddling in the common room.”

“We’re not a thing!”

Charles scoffs, sure of this and this only. “Okay, what’d you do after she woke up?”

“I walked her back to her room. My mom always said that’s what a gentleman should do.” Jake shrugs. He does it practically every night after they finish studying, for goodness’ sake. “You know, I even went to cotillion when I was nine,” Jake throws in, trying to change the subject.

“Forgetting whatever cut- _lillian_ is, you guys are past couple-y. You’re, like, the coupliest,” Charles remarks. Ever since he set Joe Uterus up with a guy from Ravenclaw, he’s been pretty confident about his matchmaking skills.

Jake turns off the lights in their room with a click, off to brush his teeth before bed. His clothes are wrinkled from curling up on the cushions earlier, and it’s bothering him now, strangely. “Listen, Amy and I are best friends. We’ve _been_ best friends since we were ten, and nothing’s changing.”

As Charles gathers his things, he looks down and says, “Hey, Jake, uh, I’m sorry if I was too pushy before. Rosa says I get like that sometimes.”

“Hey, no big deal,” Jake responds, coming out of the restroom.

Charles chuckles a little. “You know, I have no clue why you’d want to wear a shirt covered in web designs.”

Jake’s pajamas have Spider-Man on them, which no one at Hogwarts gets, aside from Amy. She’s his one exception (“Peter’s so cool! I wish a radioactive animal would bite _me_ on a class trip!”). He told her all about Marvel back in their treehouse days.

“Says the guy with the hand-sewn robe,” Jake counters. Boyles all have them, apparently, and it’s a ritual to get them monogrammed when they turn seventeen. (Nothing the Boyles do, Jake’s realized, is ordinary. He’s gotten used to it.) 

Sometimes, Jake misses the muggle world: Spotify, Cinnabon, and fire drills ringing right in the middle of math tests. Jake still remembers it fondly, but it’s as if he’s locked out. Everyone at school is so determined that magic is better than the ordinary side of life, they won’t ever change their minds and see they’re missing out on. 

“Charles, you still awake?” 

“Yeah, ‘course. What is it?” 

"Have I ever told you about Spider-Man?” 

Charles gasps. “No! Ew! How did a spider and a human ever have a baby together?!” 

_Purebloods,_ Jake thinks, with a roll of his eyes. “It’s not like that. It’s muggle fiction, just for fun. We, um, _they_ ,” he corrects, “don’t believe in it or anything. Amy loves the origin story, you want me to tell you?” 

"Aw, you’re talking about her again!” 

“I hate you, you know,” Jake says, rolling his eyes. He’d hit Charles with a pillow, if their beds weren’t so far apart. “You wanna hear about Spider-Man or not?” 

* * *

“An _O,_ Amy! I’ve never gotten an O before, not once in my whole life!” Jake exhales, reverent as he clutches Wuntch’s test results to his chest. He jumps up from his seat, head still dizzy. 

“No, it was nothing-” Amy looks away, glancing to her own paper before returning. “It was all you, I swear. I just gave you a push of encouragement.” 

There’s a blush painted across his skin. Jake’s grin is so wide, it lights up the room. “Ames, you have no clue what this means to me - I can do it, I can exceed in a world of magic - my life’s not over, and it all worked out fine, I just- it’s all thanks to your help, I could _kiss_ you right now-” 

Amy coughs, taking a small step back. Her cheeks are ruddy, as are her hands as she kneads her thumbs over her palms. A long pause hangs in midair. 

“You know what I mean, it’s just a figure of speech, and it just popped out-” Jake shuts himself up, messily waving a hand as if to disregard the past few seconds of his life. 

She pats him on the back, gentle. “Yeah, of course I get it. Slip of the tongue. No big deal.” 

“Thanks,” Jake murmurs, tension in his shoulders loosening. He cracks his knuckles, eliciting a familiar ‘that’s bad for your joints!’ from Amy. She’s calmer now that he’s back to his normal self. 

“You’re so consistent,” Jake teases. For a moment, hand on her arm, he leans toward her. She flicks a strand of hair out of her eyes, moving ever so slightly in the same direction before pulling back. He can hear her breath hitch. 

“Hey, you know, Rosa’s probably looking for me-”Amy blurts. 

_Oh._ A hollow feeling hits him. Jake makes up for lost time quickly, fashioning a makeshift excuse of his own. “Yeah, and Charles wanted me to tell him about farmer’s markets-” 

Amy nods, that confused crinkle between her eyes deepening. “So I’ll just see you later?” 

“No doubt, no doubt.” 

They each leave the room a little more clueless, despite both earning top marks.

_It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,_ Amy tells herself, turning away. Her worn shoes clack against the wooden floors as she makes for her bedroom. 

_Take him at face value. Don’t read into his words. He didn’t mean it._


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You could’ve asked him. You had a chance._
> 
> sure would be a shame if you realized you were in love with your best friend rIGHT ABOUT NOW

_Dear Mom, hope all is well at the Ministry. Things are pretty calm at Hogwarts for the time being. The flowers are blooming, the air is cool, and my roommates and I are still getting along great._

_On that topic - Jake and I had our first fight last week, actually, but we smoothed everything out. Turns out he was just really stressed about his dad, who doesn’t even know about magic! It must put a lot of tension on their relationship. I feel really bad for him._

_Anyways, our potions exam was yesterday. It went better than I expected, even if I stayed up really late studying for it. I actually fell asleep on the couch with Jake afterward, which was weird and nice (and, yeah, the niceness made it extra weird.)_

_I got an O, and so did he. He was so happy about it, he said he could kiss me. I kind of just fumbled with my words and then left. Do you think he’d ever like me? Jake’s so nice and hardworking, I have no clue how to feel._

_It’s not a big deal, life isn’t all about love and he’s my friend, anyhow. I’m going to be light and breezy about it, so don’t go planning my wedding or something._

_I have a lot to learn if I want to become a professor, as per the life calendar hanging over my bed. It’s really nice having two copies, so I have one at home and one here (see??? and you and Dad made fun of me.)_

_Not sure if Luis, Andrew, and David are also writing to you, but they seem to be doing well. Luis has become a totally different person after taking his NEWTs. He reads for fun now? And I think he might’ve started going to bed before 2am? Jake calls it senioritis, which sounds sad and potentially fatal. I can ask him to define it later._

_Andrew is fine, still polishing his prefect’s badge twenty times a day at minimum. I guess I don’t blame him, since I’d be doing the same if I were prefect. Hopefully, the five-year plan works out and I get the position. It all comes down to Headmaster Holt’s decision._

_David is … the same, but more type-A than ever. All he does is fiddle with this weird gold hourglass necklace, and study, and eat while he studies. Jake and I have actually started keeping tabs on his whereabouts, since he seems to disappear and reappear in all these weird places. You might want to ask him about that._

_Update you later! Love you! I’m off to Hogsmeade with my friends._

_Don’t worry, I promise not to stay in Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop too long - they’re wary of Santiagos, anyways, ever since they had to kick Dad out for touching the merchandise. That was funny to watch. His face turned so red, remember?_

* * *

Camila Santiago chuckles, running her fingers over the pages of her daughter’s latest letter. Amy’s dropped Jake Peralta’s name so often, it’s become a running joke in their family to count the number of mentions.

Oh, she hopes they get together soon. Jake's a nice boy, dedicated and clumsy and goodhearted. Santiagos always go for those types. Heavens knows Camila did.

* * *

“I’m not cold,” Amy insists, somehow burrowing her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat. The wind, far more blustery than she thinks it should be, sweeps past her face. Through it all, she continues her trek down the stone paths of Hogsmeade.

“Yeah, right. You’re just shivering for fun, then?” Jake retorts, taking off his Gryffindor scarf and looping it around her neck several times. “There. Take your own advice, miss always-be-prepared.”

Amy tugs at the gold tassels, smiling. It’s been quite a while since she’s had time to go out. Charles catches up to them at that point, zipping up his parka (“jake, these are a muggle fashion trend, right? I got it from my cousin Milton!”)

“Any decisions about where to go first?” Jake asks, looking to his friends. “I, for one, am partial to Honeydukes.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Charles remarks, scoffing, “we take the exact same path every time! Why mess with perfection?”

Amy nods. “Completely agree. Come on, let’s see what they have there.” As the wind picks up, she buries her chin into the scarf’s fabric, to no avail. “Jake, do muggles have hand warmers?”

“Yeah, at all the pharmacies. They’re little bags of powder that heat up when you shake them. My mom and I used to bring them camping with us. Bet you wish you had some now.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “Well, y’know, I could always perform a warming charm…”

Charles gives her a knowing look. “Yeah, and perform underage magic? You’d rather freeze to death than get in trouble with the Ministry of Magic.”

“Say what you want about muggles,” Jake raises an eyebrow, “but at least you can warm yourself up at all ages.”

“Ew,” Amy retorts, chuckling, “what a _horrible_ way to word that.”

Charles nods. “Even I agree. I think that’s the first time I’ve found an innuendo ‘too much.’”

Jake and Charles spend the rest of the way thinking of creative ways to help Amy warm up. Their antics continue down the paved streets of Hogsmeade, past the butterbeer carts and fake mermaid egg peddlers. (“It’s like real-life clickbait,” Jake mutters, though his friends don’t get it all.)

“Okay, what if you routinely set yourself on fire?” Charles jokingly suggests, holding up a finger. “My cousin Meredith works dragons and is a part-time fire breather, and I’m sure he could give you some pointers. Plus, he keeps tons of bandages and burn potion in his tent.”

Rule number one of being friends with a Boyle: never question the gender-flipped names. Jake and Amy have mastered this one well.

“Better yet,” Jake joins in, face lit up, “what if you set everyone else on fire? You wouldn’t feel any pain-”

A passing student glares at them.

“Well, yeah, except for the frightened screams of everyone near me!” Amy protests. “Who’d volunteer to be near a girl who douses you in flames for the sake of her own comfort?”

“I don’t know, someone who’s really dedicated to being near you.” Charles smirks. “You know, I think true love is the willingness to give up comfort, so someone else will be better off.”

“Oh, we’re being poetic today, aren’t we? If you find someone who’ll do that, send ‘em my way.” Amy chuckles, Charles’ sappily strung-together words going right over her head. “In the meantime, before I take to extreme measures, I might as well just keep dressing in layers.”

Jake laughs, crossing his arms. “Yeah, sure. Good plan. You’re always cold, and you constantly underestimate how many clothes you’ll need for a certain situation. Exhibit A’s right over here, Ames! You stole my scarf!”

“You offered it!”

“Yeah, ‘cause you kept rubbing your hands together and you were complaining of goosebumps,” Jake insists. “I felt bad! I was trying to be polite! Remember, I told you about cotillion and the weirdly observant teacher who made me dance with her?”

“You’re never getting this back,” Amy replies, confident as she readjusts the scarf’s fringed ends so they’re even. “I grew up with seven older brothers. You wouldn’t believe how many methods I have to quote-unquote _borrow_ stuff, and then I never return it. I do it to Boyle all the time. He’s so gullible.”

“You’re the one who took my blue sweater! I’ve been looking for that for two weeks!” Charles gasps. He glowers at her. “Hell is filled with people like you.”

“At least you’ll finally be _warm_ ,” Jake counters, nudging Amy. “Problem solved.”

* * *

They run into Rosa and Gina at Honeydukes, their arms stuffed full of coconut sugar quills and candy mice with licorice whiskers. The place is glowing, it feels, the chatter bouncing off the walls. Charles spends twenty minutes at the counter trying to figure out if the chocolate is Belgian or not. Jake takes advantage of the situation and helps himself to free samples of virtually everything in the store. Amy works at his side.

“Except any of the syrup bees, I said!” Jake insists, sprinkles littering the floor at his feet. “Just in case, I’m allergic!”

Amy frowns. “To syrup? You have it all the time-”

“No, to bees!”

From the sales line, Gina throws her head back, cackling. Next to her, Rosa pulls out her wand and pokes it in between the shoulderblades of the boy in front of her. “Boyle, if you don’t hurry up, I’m going to see how many of the Unforgivable Curses I know how to perform.”

Charles bites his tongue. “But I just need to see if their cacao nuts are organically grown!”

Gina shuffles the paper bags in her arms. “You know, Rosa’s a metamorphmagus. Wouldn’t want anyone bearing your appearance to go around bragging about how much they _love_ Kraft American cheese...”

He grits his teeth.

“Nice suggestion.” Rosa raises an eyebrow, her hair already turning a mousy brown. “Taking it a step further, I could even walk over to Genevieve Mirren-Carter over there and tell her what I think of her.”

Charles plucks a single package of chocolate frogs and drops it on the counter. He turns his head back to his friends. “Happy now?”

Gina smirks. “Perfectly.”

The cashier mouths a silent ‘thank you’ to Rosa and Gina, then gives them each two sugar quills on the house.

* * *

“You’re gonna have such a stomachache later,” Amy reprimands, steps organized over the cobblestone on the way back. She’s developed a lingering superstition about stepping on sidewalk cracks (“why would you tell me this, David?!”), and it’s continued to this day.

Jake frowns at her. With a twinge of discomfort, his left hand travels to his side, clutching it. He wants more sugar, no matter how painful the consequences will be. “It’s a little too late for that. Already started. Oh, where’s Madam Pomfrey when you need her?”

“You’re just lucky I wanted to go back to school early,” Amy says, taking advantage of Jake’s distractions and plucking a bag of cotton candy from his arms. She teasingly tears off a sky-pink piece and eats it in front of him.

“Why did you wanna go back to school, anyways? We hardly ever get time for Hogsmeade trips. Or, as you’d put it, _excursions_ with the sole purpose of immersing ourselves in wizard culture...” Jake turns his head to look at Amy, the ache subsiding. He reaches out and, with his thumb, swipes at her chin to rub off a stain. “Leftover chocolate. Figured you wouldn’t want that on your face.”

“For your information, plenty of people use the word ‘excursions’ in their daily lives,” Amy retorts, then pauses. She tucks a runaway strand of hair behind her ear. “Anyway, uh, the practical excuse is that I could get ahead on transfiguration practice. And the nice excuse would be, y’know, for you.”

Her feet brush past three consecutive crevices in the rocks, too busy to notice. Left to her own thoughts, he’s always at the forefront of her mind.

“How sappy of you.” He returns her sentiment with an elbow nudge, carrying on. “Including me in your line of reasoning, well, I _never_ would’ve thought that I’d be so honored-”

“Health reasons supersede personal entertainment! I don’t want to have fun if you’re not!” Amy remarks, ripping off yet more cotton candy.

“Aww, am I growing on you?” Jake cocks his head. “Wait, wait, let me translate, for the nerd in the audience … how conscientious of you, are we in a simpiotic relationship?”

She chuckles. _“Simpiotic_? You think you’re going to impress me by making words up? Have you ever met me?”

Jake snatches the candy back, taking a piece that’s sure to dye his tongue blue. “It’s a real word! Science term, means two things help each other out.”

“Never heard of it.” The ends of her Gryffindor scarf swish in the breeze as Amy shakes her head.

“C’mon! It was in that unit with all the relationships, like competition or parasitism…”

She gives him a knowing look. “This was probably in a muggle class. You know, one of the ones I _didn’t_ get around to taking-”

“Shush, I’m thinking. It was a real word! Simple-cottick? Semple-biotic?”

“Are you sure this isn’t a made-up word? Like over-mining? Or snaccident, which I’m still mad about? ” 

_“Symbiotic!”_ he exclaims, eureka moment finally reaching him.

Amy applauds for her best friend, a humble smile across her face.

Jake knows entire subjects she’s never heard of, she reminds herself. He has a life that she’s never gone through. It’s an intriguing balance, her joy, spite, and ambition intertwined.

(She later gets the chance to look smug again when Madam Pomfrey prescribes Jake a liter-sized vial of swamp-green Digestive Draught.)

* * *

“And then he took me to Madam Puddifoot’s,” Sophia gushes, showing everyone the note she’d received from Neil Sherman, Ravenclaw. From her seated position, she falls backward onto the bed, hugging the paper to her chest. “He said I had a smile that could light up this whole _town._ What a poetic line, huh?”

“Definitely.” Amy smirks, thinking about Jake’s love for Taylor Swift. “I bet, somewhere out there, a twenty-year-old could win a Grammy of the Year for that kind of writing.”

“What’s a Grammy?” Sophia interjects. She sits up, carefully smoothing out the ruffles in her skirt.

Amy laughs. “Oh, uh, nothing. It’s just a muggle thing.”

She feels a tinge of guilt for interrupting; Sophia’s the popular one around here, and everyone knows you don’t bring up irrelevant interests when _those_ girls start talking. Amy waves her hand dismissively, trying to fit her nonchalant tone. Rosa’s still at Hogsmeade with Gina, and it feels lonely in the room without her.

With the fleeting thought that she’d rather be somewhere else, Amy gets up from her bed. She murmurs “see you, Soph” and straightens the Gryffindor scarf currently loose around her neck. It smells like Jake, all faded books and fruit roll-ups (“so, you mean to tell me that muggles just … create food out of corn syrup? fully aware that it’ll rot their teeth?”)

She misses Jake , even after a matter of hours. Drawn away from her room, Amy goes in search of him down the familiar, painting-lined hallway.

“Oh, it’s you again, isn’t it?” The Fat Lady asks, lathering on yet another layer of color-changing lipstick. She can’t get it quite the shade she wants, puckering her lips to the mirror in her canvas.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You going to tell that boy you’re in love with him one of these days?” She gives a sly giggle.

“No, ma’am.” Amy smiles, shuffling along.

The Fat Lady is the self-appointed matchmaker at Hogwarts, always fighting with Sir Cadogan about the chemistry between the students. They even try to set up some of the staff. Personally, Amy thinks Professor Jeffords would be perfect for Miss Sharon in the admissions office, but nobody else thinks so.

“You ought to show the Peralta boy you like him soon,” The Fat Lady advises, eyes twinkling. “At least give him a clue. He’s starting to worry about his feelings for you.”

“Is that right?”

Amy rolls her eyes, finding the door to Jake’s room and knocking four times. Once it sweeps open, she’s at home again. No more chatty paintings. Good riddance to Sophia and her sappy, unoriginal love letters. Here, Amy can simply be herself.

She and Jake spend the night swapping stories (that is, in between queasy looks at the Digestive Draught.) “Chug, chug, chug!” Amy chants jokingly, a phrase her brothers toss around the house. It turns out drinking games are one of the few things that muggles and wizards have in common.

“I’m never getting my scarf back, am I?” Jake asks, lying down on the bed, satisfaction hidden in the crook of his smile. He’s just downed the last of his potion, now free from the concoction.

Amy shakes her head and swats him with one of the gold tassels. “Not on your life.”

“Hey, it looks nicer on you anyways.” He smirks, crossing his arms above his head.

Amy tries not to overthink that last comment, breath hitching for a second nonetheless. _Friends give each other compliments,_ She reminds herself. _Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool. Just what we do. Not a big deal._

The moment lingers in the air, unbroken, a little too real for either of them to accept.

Jake gives Amy a sidelong glance, and then he turns away. He’s heard a hundred songs about what to do next, has mouthed their lyrics and tapped his feet along to the steady thrum of their basslines, and he’s still stuck.

“Hey … do you think about me before you fall asleep?” Amy finally asks, jarring the quiet. She’s got a nervous habit of picking at her lips, and they’re flushed pink as a result. “Not, like, in a weird way-”

He laughs, then swallows. “Uh, what other way is there?”

“No, it’s just that, um,” Amy takes a deep breath, wanting more than ever to ask him his opinion of her. She changes her mind, her intentions skidding to a halt before her. “My brother Vic read this study that said you couldn’t rest if someone else was thinking about you. I can’t sleep lately. And you’re my best friend, so I thought, maybe...”

 _You could’ve asked him. You had a chance._ Oh, she could bash her head against the wall. So many ideas and priorities in her mind, it’s a delicate game until one of them slips loose from the balance.

“Sorry about that, then,” Jake replies, words hushed against the empty room. “I’ll tell you, it’s mostly my fault.”

His words are tinged with that honest innocence again, the same kind he’d used when he taught Amy about drones and ballpoint pens and Roombas. It makes something shift inside of her. Kindness is hard to come by, and here Jake is, giving it away like spare change.

“Oh, I was just wondering, that’s all.” Amy sits up, combing her fingers through her messy locks. The moonlight edges closer to the window, and she recalls how late it is all at once. “Hey, I should go. But, by the way, if you ever have insomnia, you can blame me entirely.” 

“Thanks, Ames.” Jake sits up as well, class robes wrinkled around him. Amy breaks into a gentle laugh, noticing how Jake’s hair sticks up at the back.

“Anytime.”

Her gaze trails away from him as she walks out. The sky is black outside.

When Amy can’t fall asleep for yet another midnight, when the last flickers of the lanterns posted around the halls die out, she thinks about Jake again. It almost makes her furious, how much nicer he’s become since they met.

He used to get bad grades, and recite entire pages from the Die Hard script. (Now, he only quotes select lines.)

Jake studies for the OWL exams every week. He thinks Professor Wuntch is “just going through a rough patch.” (Yeah, right, like rough patches last for four years.) He even perfected that confetti spell she learned last year. He has flaws, of course, but he’s this irritatingly likable, supportive amalgam of all the good things in life.

Through the dark, in the relative quiet of her bedroom, Amy realizes the Fat Lady may have been right. She gives a sigh, brought to realization by a painting. Jake’s her best friend, all finger guns and dimples, and she _likes_ him. Amy’s not very used to the feeling. Hindsight really is 20/20, and she was blind not to notice before.

It won’t end now, and it’s been going on for far too long.


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes, things do work out exactly like in the movies."
> 
> ITS ALL ABOUT THE TREEHOUSE GUYS

When Jake Peralta finally learns what it’s like to have a crush on Amy, it goes something like this.

After the end of fourth year, each and every Santiago brother approaches him. The messages are practically identical, and Jake starts to recognize a pattern the time Luis gets to him. 

**Part 1: enthusiasm.** “We approve of you and Amy dating, one-hundred percent. Don’t worry, we Santiagos don’t hold _any_ prejudices about blood purity. You’re already like family!”

**Part 2: insight on Amy.**

“She’s my sister, duh! I can tell when she likes someone.”

“I heard from our family friend Rosa. We used to be neighbors back in New Hampshire.”

“Y’know, I snuck a peek at an old letter she wrote home to Mom. The feeling’s mutual, trust me.”

 **Part 3: the non-disclosure agreement.** “Listen, this talk _never_ happened. I’ll deny it to my grave. You can’t tell anyone else, especially not a Santiago. Got it?”

Each time the furtive discussion takes place, Jake simply nods along. What’s he going to do, say no? It’s all starting to feel like the universe is playing a cosmic joke on him. What are the odds of seven separate brothers giving him romantic advice, when he’s never even had a relationship?

Jake doesn’t yet know about the Santiagos’ bet, isn’t privy to their conversations. It’s lonely, going on like this.

Whenever Jake prepares to tell Amy, it usually feels like this’ll be the time. He can get through the initial awkwardness if it’ll set him free from wondering. In the back of his mind, Jake even starts to gather his suspicions that Amy might genuinely like him. Sometimes they’re talking, and she’ll give him this slow glance that, to him, can only mean adoration, confession, and the whole nine yards.

Amy always looks away, and the streak of pride drifts out of Jake’s reach. She’ll turn back to her coursework or wave hello to a friend, and the moment falls apart.

It hits Jake, every time, that this is probably in his head. Amy Santiago is his best friend, his partner in crime, and she’s got a magnetic field that’s simply too strong. It’s his fault for reading into things. Rather than complicate things, Jake continues acting like he has before, for he won’t jeopardize anything.

As Jake can’t bury his thoughts, they go on.

Every once in a while, Amy’ll smile just so, and it makes Jake want to buy her flowers and give her compliments until she’s sick of it. He’d like to take her to Flourish and Blotts, like to listen to her opinions on colored tabs and new non-spill inkwells until she runs out of words, like to take anything she’d give him.

In his head, Amy always likes him back. Nevertheless, reality’s awfully sobering when it comes to the long list of things you can’t do because you’re not dating someone.

Jake spends handfuls of his nights thinking about Amy. Sprawled onto his bed, arms crossed on his pillow, she’s hyperfocused in his mind. On those starlit evenings, he usually wonders if she’s still awake. He hopes so. Dreams come back to him, washing over his thoughts and keeping him carefully balanced on the tightrope between yes and no.

Like he said, pondering is a tricky game.

* * *

The end of fourth year is rather smooth, considering how much effort the students put in. Amy moves into the library for the last two weeks of classes and her hair becomes a heap of stress-braids. Jake’s mom sends him a care package from Starbucks, and he spends a half-hour trying to ration his various amounts of caffeine after giving Amy half the box.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou, you’re such a lifesaver, I _love_ you-”

Jake rakes a hand through his hair, sheepish to move forward. “Whatever you say, Ames.”

No one else in Gryffindor studies as much as they do, Amy out of ambition and Jake out of a need to prove himself. He’s relentless, paging through books until his eyesight blurs and sleeping underneath the tables.

“Get into the tent, nerd.” Amy rolls her eyes. “I borrowed an extra sleeping bag and everything.”

It’s a little strange how well-furnished the Santiago family tent is; nobody would think to expect a fireplace and twinkly lights strung along the walls. Amy’s dad bewitched it so there’s more room on the inside than appears on the outside. Jake excitedly starts talking about the Tardis, and, soon enough, he’s launching into a plot summary of Doctor Who.

(Thus began the two weeks when Jake woke up, freaked out, as Amy cast spells in her sleep.

_“Alohomora … wing- wingardium leviosa…”_

“Amy! Get us back down on the ground, where it’s safe!” Jake yelps, clinging onto his blankets.)

It isn’t until the end of term that they read their exam results. By this point, they’d already hugged Charles and Gina and Rosa goodbye, packing up their satchels and suitcases. Jake had glossed through the Santiagos’ old workbooks for covert cleaning spells that Tony swore wouldn’t tip off the Ministry.

Test results arrive via owl once more, the flaps of their wings creating a much-needed breeze in the damp summer air. Jake and Amy are sitting in the treehouse, legs swinging as they shiver gently. Amy’s pushing the frames of her newly-purchased glasses up the bridge of her nose, remnants of anxiety creeping into the frame.

This is the precise moment when everything goes a step further.

The letters are crisp, the wax seals crumble as the papers open, and Amy bites her lip, afraid to tear the sheet.

“These aren’t our course reports!” she exclaims, running a finger over the words as she skims over them. “Is it a mistake?”

This is the night when Jake and Amy are made prefects, two crimson badges illuminated by the sunset. The clouds are mellow tonight, and the heat is thick. Beneath them, the ground cracks apart with thirst. But here, safe between the steadfast walls of the treehouse, life flourishes, and Jake now has one more thing to add to the Peralta Achievement Binder.

Amy elbows him, already clipping the Gryffindor crest to her sweater. “See, I told you, it was never about blood purity. You can do anything.” She beams. “Always could.”

Jake keeps his head down and reads the letter twice more, the second time slower than the first. The paper is unevenly dark under his heavy shadow. Jake forces himself to ponder each word, not wanting this to be some fever dream. Maybe it’s all a trick of the light or some vapor-thin fantasy, for their world is magic, after all; it's difficult to take any truth at face value.

And then he comes up for air.

Amy’s grin is crooked, bringing out that dimple on her left cheek. The outer edges of her hair glow auburn, lit by the dying sun (and Jake knows that’s hard to explain, but you’d have to be there to define it.) The autumn halo, changing with the sky, keeps Amy glowing. The prefect badge rests straight on her peter pan collar, and she rubs the lion emblem with thumb and forefinger until the metal must have warmed a degree or two.

“So, on to fifth year, huh?” Jake asks, tugging at the manila envelope frozen in Amy’s grasp. He wants his badge, too.

This was worth the blisters and nicks on their hands, worth nearly getting diagnosed with carpal tunnel from a disapproving Madame Pomfrey, worth late nights when the lanterns blew out and four AM study sessions when they could hardly keep their eyes open. This was a dual sacrifice, undiluted and white-hot with newness. This was the idyllic checkpoint on the way to the finish line, marked with red pennants all the way home.

“Definitely,” Amy says. “Remember, I said I wasn’t going anywhere if it wasn’t with you?”

“Yeah. You know I’ve always got your back.” Jake bites his tongue as he finishes. The Santiago-to-Peralta relationship advice sessions come back to him, an echo in his mind.

 _Tell her she’s got skin like moonlight,_ Tony had advised. _Girls love hearing that stuff._ Tony’d rolled his eyes, thinking about the ‘hypothetical’ crush Jake wanted to compliment.

Jake’s sitting in the treehouse once more, resting his chin on one hand as he thinks about the way Amy looks in her new glasses. She’s only worn them a handful of times, and she’d vanish them if not for the Ministry of Magic’s statutes. They’re about three sizes too large, and she half-hates them. The other half is simply necessity.

Jake doesn’t think the glasses look bad at all. He likes her eyes, dark like charcoal. Now, if only he could get that message across instead of what he actually said: ‘hey, just like Einstein! Very particle-yer,’ because Amy has no clue about twentieth-century muggle physicists, and then he had to explain the pun, but Jake doesn’t actually know that much about Einstein, either, so then it was-

He sighs, still looking at her. Jake’s never done this before, and something in his chest tightens with that notion. He’s balanced on a tightrope, and he might be throwing everything away. They have every chance of breaking apart soon.

“You okay there?” Amy asks, turning her head. Her legs swing in the breeze. “You’re being awfully quiet.”

The sun has nearly set by now, still hinged on a few spare seconds.

“I, um, I-” Jake drags his fingers over his knuckles, scraped from knocking into the Santiagos’ bookshelf last week. He centers himself on that memory, dusty volumes forming rows and rows of history. And yet, it doesn’t make this any easier. Jake still finds it hard to breathe. “This is really hard to say. But I’ve been alright for a while now, and I think I know who to blame for that.”

Amy comes up for air just then, too.

She catches on faster than Jake might think.

And so, gathering every drop of bravado she can muster from the hidden chambers of that ruthlessly good heart, all fifteen years of innocence leading her here, she responds. “You may have taken the words right out of my mouth.‘Cause I was about to place the blame on _you,_ you know.”

“Um, uh, romantic-stylez, that is?”

Her laugh is the kindest thing he’s heard in a long time. “Yeah. Romantic-stylez. With a ‘z’ and everything.”

Amy leans into his lean frame, legs crossed, and Jake gingerly takes her glasses off. It’s dark now, anyhow, and he folds the lenses with a cautious touch.

“You sure about this, Ames?” Jake’s hands drift to her sides.

“Hundred percent.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Hey, don’t go bringing up your grades when we’re having a serious talk!” Jake says, mock-surprised. The sky is a deep-ocean blue at this point. “Wouldn’t want to pull out the Amy Santiago Achievement Binder, volume forty-seven, and have to add some extra information.”

Amy chuckles in that miraculous way, moving one hand to cup Jake’s cheek. She's biting her lip again. “Nerd. Even _I_ couldn’t inspire forty-seven binders. Five or ten, maybe-”

“Nah. All forty-seven and counting.”

* * *

Their first kiss is giggly and inexperienced, both of them unsure as to where to put their hands, yet far more determined to appear knowledgeable in this one matter. It’s a tricky bluff to continue. Jake pulls apart after thirty seconds or a minute or half a lifetime, one hand on Amy’s thigh 一oh, he’d just die if one of Amy’s brothers or, g-d forbid, her _father_ walked in on them right now 一 and Amy murmurs something about practice making perfect. She always knows exactly what to say.

Needless to say, fifth year is fun.

(Somewhere in the Santiago household, Camila is cheering like there's no tomorrow, and her sons have gone nearly bankrupt from losing the Jake-Amy bet.)

* * *

**Twelve Years Later.**

Professor Jake Peralta insists on giving his students a free period each Wednesday to vent about personal matters and to relax from their other classes. (He used to call it “transfigure out your life”, but Rosa convinced him to stop doing that with a single disapproving eye-roll.) As per his weekly tradition, Jake moves to pull down the blinds before realizing he can do it with a spell. He mumbles “half-bloods, am I right?” under his breath.

Old habits die hard, he thinks, as the first student raises her hand.

“Professor Peralta, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the deal with you and Professor Santiago?” Marcia Nott asks, sitting in the front row of the transfiguration classroom. Most students can’t help but notice the flyaway glances and casual mentions they often stare. In fact, Professor Santiago hardly goes a single potions class without talking about him, and vice versa.

Marcia’s best friend Wendy also raises her hand. “Yeah, I see you two flirting all the time! Do you like her?”

“I should hope so.” Jake laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose. He sees some of the class whisper among themselves, and he plays with his ring, still loose from sheer newness. “Otherwise, our wedding would’ve been a real surprise to her,” Jake adds.

“You’re _married_?” Marcia asks, eyes wide.

Jake frowns, watching the other students look at each other in confusion. “Yeah, I mention her all the time, figured it was obvious.”

Marcia shrugs. “I assumed you were good friends.”

“And there’s a picture of Amy on my desk!” 

“Again, friends,” Wendy adds.

“I didn’t spend _years_ liking her for people not to-” Jake sighs. “So none of you knew? I’m kind of hurt!” He leans against his desk, crossing his arms. The class only gets one day off per week. Jake thinks about professional discretion, about maintaining boundaries with a group of sixteen-year-olds, about Headmaster Holt’s policies. 

“Amy’s my best friend. She’s also my wife,” Jake says, lips upturning with that last notion. He wants to be mature about this. “Enough said.”

Despite what he insists, Jake ends up spending the rest of ‘transfigure of speech’ 一 yeah, he’s still working on the name 一 dropping Amy’s name left and right. She’s threaded into his life, it seems. The students, Marcia and Wendy included, give each other looks when Professor Peralta spends ten minutes telling a story about the time he learned the confetti charm from her. That doesn’t even cover his speech about the NEWT exams.

“You know, I got mostly Es and a few Os, but Professor Santiago got nearly all Os. She’s so _smart,_ you don’t even know-”

There’s a slam against the wall, and the class looks up. 

“Heard you were saying nice things about me.” Amy steps into the classroom with a swing of the door, her tie neatly dimpled and her robes crisp despite it being the last period of the day. She beams. “Wives have a sense.”

“Soulmates. Telepathic connection,” Jake calls to his class and points to Professor Santiago with finger guns, the words loud enough for even the half-asleep students at the back to hear. He puts his arm over her shoulder as they walk out of class, the bell ringing with perfect timing. “Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite person?”

Amy shrugs. “Only like, every other day.”

* * *

**Three Years Later.**  
“Okay, what about Elvendork? Works for a boy or a girl,” Jake suggests, his pointer finger running down a sheet of Amy’s favorite stationery. He’s seated at the dinner table with her, poring over their to-do list before work from Amy’s latest binder overwhelms him.

She looks down to her baby bump, stroking it. “Your father’s out of his mind, hon. He’s always been bad with names, I should tell you. He named your grandma’s car ‘The Delorean.’”

“Ouch, bad-mouthing me to someone who doesn’t even develop _ears_ for three weeks. Hitting me where it hurts,” Jake murmurs, rolling his eyes. He takes his oldest quill and crosses yet another name off the sheet. “Fine, if you’re going to be so picky, try Nakatomi. Imagine, here comes the newly elected Minister of Magic, Nakatomi Peralta-Santiago. Am I killing this or what?”

“So you’re going to make our baby’s middle name Plaza?” Amy asks, shaking her head. “We need a better name than that. I might just come over there and snap that quill before you have a chance to write anything else.”

“Hey! This was a Christmas gift from you when we were, like, ten!”

She leans forward in her chair, jaw dropping a few degrees. “You still have that? Quills have an average lifespan of four years and ten months!”

“Of course you’d know that,” he grumbles. “Besides, they last longer if you keep getting them fixed.”

“Is that why you used to be way better at _Reparo_ than the other charms?” She gasps, pointing at him. “And why you’d always sneak into Flourish and Blotts without me during our Hogsmeade trips?!”

“I had a crush on you! Couldn’t stand to throw away something you’d given me,” he counters, the look in his eyes remaining soft. “I even made up a spell to fix it myself. _Reparo aeternum._ ”

“Oh. That’s really sweet.” Amy tilts her head, dark hair falling down the slope of her shoulder. She makes a point of reaching out and holding his hand from across the table. “You invented a charm of your own? That’s kind of hot, too.”

He smirks. “Yeah?”

“You want to...” she flips the binder cover shut with ease, “take a break from this?”

“I will if you will.” Jake gets up from his seat, caught in her orbit. His hand drops to the small of Amy’s back as they rush out of the kitchen and to their room, steps crooked.

“One condition, though,” she says, giggling, pressed against the doorframe. Her hair tangles as Jake peels off her t-shirt. “No baby names from Die Hard.”

“Not even for Holly Santiago-Peralta? We can put your last name first!”

She makes for the collar of his flannel shirt. “Not on your life.”

* * *

Sometimes, things do work out exactly like in the movies (not that Amy really knows what movies _are,_ and she still believes that Orville Redenbacher and Stan Lee are distantly related, which is neither here nor there, but anyways-)

Sometimes you get to marry your best friend, and sometimes she’s that lonely girl next door who never seems to celebrate birthdays. If it weren’t for Jake’s insistence (his mother just assumed the Santiagos were Jehovah’s Witnesses - apparently they’re not allowed to celebrate non-religious holidays?), he wouldn’t have invited her year after year. If it weren’t for those invites, he wouldn’t have known her name. And if it weren’t for a handful of quarters and an ice-cream truck on a hot summer day, he wouldn’t have met her and asked if she were _the_ Amy Santiago.

“This isn’t How I Met Your Mother! You can stop narrating that dramatic monologue!” she calls from the next room.

“Just recording the important details, Ames!”

“I heard what you were saying about Stan Lee! He is _too_ a Redenbacher, maybe like a third cousin thrice removed or something. Maybe he’s quadruple removed!”

“Sure thing, nerd.” Jake rolls his eyes. He’s known her for decades by now, he’s fully aware some things (like the rubber duck argument to Amy’s parents, and the Redenbacher-Lee family tree to his and Amy's family) are off-limits.

“Hey, did you arrange the muggle coins for the kids’ show-and-tell?” Amy calls.

“Nope, I’m on it. I’ve got, like, six quarters in my desk, I can put those in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have loved writing this fic so much!! with school starting in 2 weeks, I figured I'd just rapid-finish this chapter tonight, and I added 2 post-marriage scenes that I just really liked the idea of.
> 
> Maybe, if I get some more inspiration, I'll add more parts - I can never finish my AUs because I always get way too attached. Hopefully, this isn't the END end of this fic. I think I'll always love the hogwarts AU with my whole heart.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! leave kudos or a comment if you like it so far!! anyone who comments will get a reply w/ a line from a later chapter ❤️❤️
> 
> this thing is a whirlwind to write. i tend to get carried away, i take full responsibility.


End file.
